Fawn Armani
by violette7
Summary: Brian and Justin are both living in New York City. They meet through Craigslist, with a little help from Cynthia and Daphne.
1. Missed Connection

Brian was in his office reading Craigslist during his lunch break. He did that every day. He rarely responded to ads and never posted any of his own, but reading them always made him smile and sometimes even gave him a chuckle. He usually started with "men seeking women." The ads were often pathetic, but sometimes hilarious. Today he saw one that caused him to laugh out loud: "Fat ugly loser seeks supermodel for sex only." The poster was making a joke, and it was funny because it was true. Many of the ads asked for exactly that, although indirectly. Hetero men seemed to want everything, while offering little or nothing in return. Well, except the older men. They often promised financial support to attractive women between the ages of 18 and 25. So it was always a relief to turn to the "men seeking men" or casual encounters m4m, mm4m, or m4mm sections. The bulk wanted what most men, gay or straight, wanted, a blowjob or a hole to fuck, but quite a few were dying to suck a big cock or to be fucked by one, and they were all very upfront about it. Some even provided pictures of their "charms," such as they were. Brian often found himself studying small, dark, and/or out-of-focus pictures of gigantic cocks, nicely rounded asses, and perfectly sculpted torsos, wondering if they were for real.

Brian never read the missed connections section. Those ads were too often sentimental, even in the m4m part. But his executive assistant did. Every morning, as she sipped her coffee and waited for her boss to arrive. Cynthia was a beautiful woman, with an ample bosom, curly dirty blond hair, a killer smile, and a sultry voice. That coupled with her intelligence, her high-paying job, and her weird, but cool personality definitely made her a catch. But she wanted more than a quick fuck with someone who barely gave her a once over before coming onto her like a freight train. She wanted to be swept off of her feet. A little sweetness. Maybe a man who was too shy to approach her directly. A man who gazed at her and wondered what she was like (and not just in bed). So she read the missed connection ads every morning hoping that for one wonderful man she stood out in the sea of anonymous bodies and faces making up New York City. Stood out enough for him to think about her all day and eventually face the humiliation of posting an ad on the off chance she would read it. Sometimes, she'd see a series of ads where men and women would correspond with their missed connections. She always envisioned them settling down together and desperately wished that she would enjoy the same fate.

Every day, Brian would walk by his assistant's desk and ask, "Any word from Prince Charming?" and every day, Cynthia would shake her head glumly. But not this morning. This morning, she'd smiled brightly and said, "Yes, but not my Prince Charming."

Brian had frowned. He could barely bring himself to care about her manhunt, let alone anyone else's. So he had not posed any follow-up questions. Then just as he was about to escape into his office, she'd added, "Yours."

That had gotten Brian's attention. He'd wheeled around and quirked an eyebrow.

Then she'd read, "I saw the face of God on the F train" and had smiled even more brightly. Brian had set his briefcase down and sat on the edge of her desk, though he'd crossed his arms. Cynthia had taken that as a sign that he wanted to hear more, so she'd continued, "Me: 19, 5'9, blond, with blue eyes, a perfectly rounded ass, and a great smile. You: 6'2 or 6'3, chestnut hair, with hazel eyes and bronze skin. You were drinking coffee and reading GQ. I couldn't catch your eye, and I was a little too stunned to approach you when your stop came. If I'm lucky and this actually reaches you, please reply with the color and type of suit you were wearing, so I know it's really you."

Brian had stood and scoffed, "That could be anybody."

Cynthia had looked at him doubtfully. "Someone with your exact height, hair color, and eye color riding the F train and reading GQ? Come on!"

"Well, even if the kid is referring to me, he's a twink and probably a troll. I don't do either."

"Brian, come on. What's the harm in responding?"

"No. No way."

Then he'd disappeared into his office.

"Fuck that," Cynthia had muttered. "Someone around here's gonna get their Prince Charming." Then she'd typed a brief reply (being as succinct as her boss would have been) and sent it on its merry way: "Fawn. Armani."

TBC…


	2. The Best Oatmeal in the World

Justin was sitting on the couch, eating. He'd just returned from his favorite bodega with two cups of coffee and two tall cups of oatmeal, one each for him and his best friend and roommate, Daphne. He thought the oatmeal was the best in the city, and he loved escaping their hot, stuffy (and tiny) apartment and stepping out onto the pavement every morning to get it.

He'd grown up in a suburb, but he couldn't get away fast enough. Get away from the nearly identical pastel houses with grass so green and perfect it looked plastic. Once he'd actually walked through someone's yard to touch the flowers in the flowerbox, to see whether they were real. He seriously couldn't tell from just looking.

But Justin loved to be surrounded by stone, brick, and metal, to hear trains rattling by, to feel the hustle of the city, and to study the often brilliant street art as he walked along, as well as the many different old buildings (of varying sizes, textures, and colors) and the little personal touches on balconies, fire escapes, and steps, a lone flower pot here, children's toys there. He also loved watching people. Alone or gathered in groups, young and old. Rushing to work or to meet someone, chatting, playing cards or chess, walking dogs, exercising (jogging or riding bikes), or, in the case of children, running and chasing, playing jump rope and hopscotch, riding tricycles or bikes, and pulling or riding in wagons. One Saturday, on the way to the pharmacy, he'd taken a road he often passed, but had never walked down. From very far off, he'd heard the long, slow notes of some old-time crooner, maybe Frank Sinatra. That coupled with the sight of a group of old men laughing and talking and people lined up at a nearby hot dog cart was ambience you just couldn't get anywhere else. New York City was always eccentric, exciting, and changing, while strangely also always remaining the same.

Few people were out at 7am, which made walking around at that time, particularly in the summer, even better. It was bright and warm, but not hot, and the city was just waking up. It was surreal, like being on an empty, but brightly lit set.

The reason Justin ventured out so early (even taking the subway since it wasn't walking distance) was a little piece of breakfast heaven. In taste and consistency, the oatmeal seemed a cross between cream of wheat and oatmeal and was sweet, but not too sweet, with milk and a hint of maple. Justin always bought coffees, too, because the coffee was, strange for such a small store, both wonderful (strong and savory) and cheap. Justin sighed in contentment as he ate his oatmeal and drank his coffee.

Daphne was doing the sacrilegious, letting her coffee and oatmeal get cold as she surfed the Web. Suddenly, she cried out, "We have a winner!"

Justin looked at his best friend curiously. "Have you been buying lottery tickets again?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Nooo…"

Then nonchalantly, though a smile continually threatened to break out on her face, she added, "I just, you know, posted a missed connection ad on Craigslist."

Justin narrowed his eyes and asked suspiciously, "For whom?"

(On the way home from the bodega, Justin had spotted the most beautiful man on the subway. But twenty minutes ago, he'd finished regaling her with a description of his dream man.)

Daphne just smiled.

Justin groaned, "Daphne, you didn't!"

"What? I was just acting in your best interest…I wouldn't normally post an ad for you, but you seemed to like him sooo much. Hell. You said you saw the "face of God." How could I let you let him slip away?"

Justin buried his face in his hands and groaned again, before he looked back up at his best friend and asked, uneasily, "How did you word the ad?"

Daphne smiled again, cleared her throat, and read, "I saw the face of God on the F train."

"Fuck, Daph! Could you have made me sound like more of a freak?"

Daphne ignored Justin and continued, "Me: 19, 5'9, blond, with blue eyes, a perfectly rounded ass, and a great smile."

"A perfectly rounded…? Geez! Why not just say I'm desperate for a cock in the ass?"

Daphne scoffed, "Not just any cock! The one attached to G.Q. Super Hottie, esquire, your towering hazel-eyed Adonis." She sighed comically, placed both hands on her heart, batted her eyelashes, and tilted her head skyward. Justin shot a pillow at her, hitting her right in the face. He chuckled. She glared at her best friend, but then cleared her throat again and read on, "You: 6'2 or 6'3, chestnut hair, with hazel eyes and bronze skin. You were drinking coffee and reading GQ. I couldn't catch your eye, and I was a little too stunned to approach you when your stop came."

More groaning came from the couch. Daphne sighed heavily when she looked over and saw her best friend buried under throw pillows. "You are _such_ a drama queen!"

Then she finished, "If I'm lucky and this actually reaches you, please reply with the color and type of suit you were wearing, so I know it's really you."

Daphne jumped up and knocked the pillows off of Justin. She exclaimed, "You're missing the best part, you dolt!"

Justin quirked an eyebrow.

"He replied!"

Justin froze and then sat up. "That would explain your screaming…"

Daphne opened both her eyes wide and nodded.

Feigning nonchalance, Justin asked, "So…what did he say?"

Daphne returned to the computer and wrinkled her nose. "Not much. 'Fawn. Armani.'"

"Oh my God!"

"Is that your guy?"

Justin grinned and nodded his head. "Now what?"

Daphne shot him a "Duh" look. "Uh…you reply."

"But, I mean, what should I say?"

"Hmmm…how about…I have an art show tonight. Wanna come?"

Daphne waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Justin frowned. "I don't know…"

Daphne quickly typed the message, along with an address and a time. Then she hit send. She grinned. "Too late!"

She received a pillow to the face in response.


	3. Da' Man

After receiving a reply from "the twink," as Brian had called him, Cynthia wasn't sure what to do. She knew she had to get Brian to attend the event he'd mentioned. Unfortunately, it was a college art show, as she'd learned after doing a little Googling. The bright side was, as she discovered after making a few calls to her contacts in the art world, the school was top notch. Many now-famous artists had gone there, and the art show in question was a very big deal. Many art critics would be there (it was opening night) to see what the up and comers were producing. If "the twink" had not only been accepted to such a prestigious school but also been invited to show his work as early as his sophomore year, he must be brilliant.

A ha! She knew exactly how to spin this. She called the Art Institute and asked them to send a program through a courier. She'd already seen it online, but having a print version would make her suggestion seem innocent. "The twink" was named Justin Taylor (he was the only blond artist), and he was HOT. Hot and brilliant. How could Brian resist? Add to that the prospect of roping in a major talent, one that their competition (Smith, Thomas & Daniels) wanted. She'd have to call the assistant of their best ad man, Johnson, to get him there, but that shouldn't be too hard; she and Liz often bandied barely veiled insults and gloated, on behalf of their bosses, of course. She would simply need to pretend that Brian had Justin all lined up as an intern for the art department at King & York and drop that little tidbit into Liz's lap. Johnson would most definitely turn up to view Brian's new it-boy and to try to steal him away. Then she'd tell Brian that Johnson had Justin on lockdown. When the dust settled, Brian would have his Prince Charming (if the fucker didn't screw it up; she'd have to go with to make sure that didn't happen) and perhaps even an extremely talented new art intern, which could very well give them an edge over their fiercest competitor. This ought to earn her a nice toast at their commitment ceremony and maybe even a raise.

Once the program arrived, she put a post-it note underneath Justin's picture, one that read, "Johnson at ST&D's prospective new intern. Wanna try to snag him for K&Y?" She slipped it into a pile of documents that needed to be signed and popped her head into his office to drop the pile off.

Then she returned to her desk and waited.

Five minutes later, Brian buzzed her. "Cynthia, get a car for tonight and put on your prettiest dress. We're going poaching."

Cynthia could hear her boss smirking. She smiled. She was way too old to do a happy dance (though she felt like doing just that), but she'd be lying if she said she didn't do a couple rounds of "Go Cynthia…It's your birthday" in her head.

TBC…


	4. A Queenout, Some Drooling, and a Story

Daphne frowned a little. She and Justin had a light class load on Fridays (and Justin had made all his preparations for the show yesterday), so they'd spent most of the day pretending they weren't waiting for a reply from G.Q. Super Hottie, Esquire. It had finally come, and he'd responded in the affirmative, but his enthusiasm level left a lot to be desired. He'd written simply, "Why not?" She shook her head. Well at least he was coming.

She giggled as she turned to face Justin. He was lying on the couch, holding a book (upside down) and staring at the ceiling with a soft smile on his face. She crawled over to him and poked him in the ribs. "I hate to interrupt your twisted fantasy, but…"

Justin protested, "It's not twisted…"

Daphne scoffed, "Yeah, right. I've seen your porn collection, remember?"

Justin colored.

"Anyway…The star of the aforementioned fantasy just reached out and touched you."

Justin sat straight up. "Really? Is he coming?"

Daphne grinned and nodded. Then she laughed so hard she fell over when Justin leapt off the couch (and over the coffee table) and into his room, crying out, "Fuck! What am I going to wear? Why didn't I think of this before? I wasted hours just daydreaming!"

Then the clothes started flying. Daphne let Justin fret about it for thirty minutes or so before coming to the rescue, suggesting a lightweight red-purple cashmere sweater Justin's mom had gotten him for his last birthday and black pants.

*******

Brian traced a finger lightly over Justin Taylor's picture. He was trying to decide whether to fuck him. Doing so would make stealing him from Johnson (a hetero tool with zero style) much, much easier. But, of course, a personal entanglement with a future employee could get messy. Still, he had longish silky blond hair in which Brian could thread his fingers as he thrust deeply into young master Taylor's mouth. His mouth. He cursed, "Fuck." Plump cherry-red lips perfect for kissing and sucking. If he had a decent ass, tonight would be memorable for sure.

Thinking about perfectly rounded asses brought to mind the missed connection ad from this morning. The twink had said he was blond with blue eyes, a perfectly rounded ass, and a great smile. This kid had a great smile, too. The twink from the ad was probably not half as good looking as this prospective intern. For a moment, Brian almost wished this Justin Taylor was the twink from the ad. He wouldn't mind his thinking that he had "the face of God." He wondered whether Justin was the type to know what he wanted immediately and to be so bold in pursuing it. He hoped so, he told himself, because it would benefit the agency. Brian huffed a laugh. Mooning over some college boy. Clearly, he'd spent too much time landing Brown Athletics. He hadn't had a really good, all-night-long fuck in at least a month. Perhaps young master Taylor could help him with that. He could think of at least a dozen things he'd love to do to him, and tomorrow was Saturday. He could literally fuck him into tomorrow.

*******  
Justin froze. "Oh God, he's coming. He's headed straight over here."

Daphne scanned the crowd until she saw the man Justin was staring at. She exclaimed, "Wow! He _is_ a super hottie!"

But she frowned when she turned back to her best friend. He looked terrified. His eyes were wide, and he was flushed. He was even trembling. Time for the big guns.

Daphne smiled and hummed a little of Feliz Navidad. Then she sang, very quietly, "Philippe la-di-dah, Philippe la-di-dah…"

Justin immediately started giggling, and his eyes twinkled. A few Christmases back, Daphne had joined the Taylor clan for dinner; his grandmother had had one too many egg nogs and tried to sing along with Feliz Navidad. Her solecism later became a way to quickly diffuse Justin's social anxiety. Even now, two years after the bashing, Justin still had panic attacks in times of extreme pressure or emotional duress, particularly in large crowds. Daphne suddenly regretted inviting G.Q. Super Hottie, Esquire to the show. She should have known Justin would be tense enough surrounded by all these strangers who would want to question him about his work, much of which involved incredibly painful memories. Meeting a potential beau, one that Justin was dying to impress, just made the situation, and Justin, more volatile. She'd have to watch Justin like a hawk tonight.

When the hazel-eyed man reached Justin's side, he looked at Justin intensely (checking him out and then staring into Justin's eyes), his own eyes a little wide (and wild). He stood so close to Justin that Daphne nearly yanked him back. But she held off. Justin was smiling at the man, shyly, but happily. Then he took Justin's hand in his, shaking it gently, almost like they were holding hands rather than greeting one another, and drawled, "Brian Kinney."

Justin replied softly, "Justin Taylor."

Brian repeated Justin's name slowly, nearly purring. Justin shivered (he wasn't the only one). Then he released Justin's hand and looked at the paintings on the wall behind him. "Are these yours?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah."

Brian was standing in front of the one painting that had nothing to do with the bashing. It was of a naked reclining man, but he was turned away, so you couldn't see his face. Brian smirked at Justin and said, "You have an amazing feel for the human form."

Justin looked down, but he was smiling brightly. "Thanks."

"Who is it?"

"Oh…my first lover, if you can call him that."

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

Justin swallowed hard and then explained, "One night, in my hometown, I went to an area with a lot of gay bars. I was determined to lose my virginity. When I was walking through a dark alley, a man grabbed me and pushed me up against a wall."

Justin sighed and smiled softly. "He smelled and felt incredible and the things he did to me…Despite the circumstances, he didn't rush. Unfortunately, my dad had somehow found out where I'd gone and went after me. He showed up right at the end, thankfully, after we'd both had a couple of orgasms. My dad and I started fighting, and, of course, the guy took off. There's no better buzz kill than an angry father coming to collect his kid. The part that sucks is he'd asked if I wanted to come back to his place. God, I wanted to."

As Brian listened, his expression went from amused to something else…Daphne couldn't figure out what, but he furrowed his brow.

Justin continued, oblivious to the change, "I went back a few times trying to find him, but I never did. Course, I hadn't really seen much of his face (it was really dark in that alley), and I didn't know his name."

Brian chuckled. "You seem to have a good recollection of his body."

Justin smiled a little shyly and nodded. Softly, he said, "I touched every single inch of it, well and other things…I could never forget. Some nights I still dream about him. Shit, sorry to go on and on like that. That's probably much more than you wanted to know."

Justin didn't seem to notice (he was very nervous and embarrassed), but Brian swallowed hard in response to his confession. Daphne couldn't understand. She couldn't understand any of his reactions to Justin's story.


	5. Brian's Pitch

When they walked in, Brian had instructed Cynthia to keep an eye on Johnson. Brian didn't want that "hetero tool" interrupting his initial "pitch." So Cynthia had positioned herself between Brian and Justin and the tool. If he approached the boys, she would head him off at the pass, giving Brian as much time alone with Justin as possible. She loved seeing her boss in action. He drew people in so perfectly. He invaded Justin's personal space, established a physical connection, made a lot of eye contact, and complimented his work, probably in that bright, but darkly sexy drawl of his. If Justin hadn't already been in awe of him, he certainly would have been after the first few minutes.

But then, after Brian, she imagined, asked Justin about his naked guy painting, Brian's demeanor and expression had changed. He was tense and surprised, and, for a moment, Cynthia thought he was gonna make a break for it. What on earth could Justin be saying to Brian to make his game face slip so drastically? In contrast, Justin's expression was happy, almost beatific. She glanced back at Johnson for a moment, sighed, and then drew nearer to Brian and Justin. Whatever the consequences, she just had to know what they were talking about.

Brian asked, as evenly as he could manage, "So where are you from?" Part of him hoped that Justin would say he was from Duluth or Des Moines, but only part of him. Brian tried to ignore what the other part of him was saying.

"Pittsburgh."

Cynthia's eyes widened. Had Brian already "met" Justin ("met" being a nice euphemism for the only way they could have encountered each other before, probably in some back room). She couldn't help but smile. In her head, she cursed her boss for having all the luck, for having destiny and fate on his side, but she did so good naturedly.

Brian nodded his head slowly. In the case of anyone else, he would've offered the boy a job and left things there. But Justin was irresistible. The fact that Brian had already had him did nothing to quell his desire to have him again, tonight. Strangely, that just made Brian want him all the more, for he remembered their first encounter, though, of course, at first, he'd had no clue that Justin was that boy from so long ago. Angry father or no, that night, Brian wouldn't have left, except that Mikey had found him and dragged him off to the hospital to see his son. Later, at the hospital, when Lindsay had asked him his opinion of the name Gus, his first thought had been that it was silly. But Brian had heard angry dad call the boy he'd fucked Jus. Remembering that had put a soft smile on his lips. Suddenly Gus had seemed like the perfect name for his son, and he'd told Lindsay so, though it earned him a growl and a frown from Mel.

As Justin had informed Brian (when Brian had suggested that they have a drink at his loft), he couldn't leave for a few hours, so Brian taunted Johnson a little and then spent the rest of the time studying Justin's other paintings. He'd sent Cynthia home shortly after he'd realized who Justin was.

An hour after Brian's "pitch," Johnson had approached Justin. Justin had seen Johnson (a tall blond in a grey suit with pronounced dimples and a plastic smile, who looked like his name should be Brock) and Brian exchanging not-so-friendly glances earlier and had seen them talking shortly after Brian left Justin to impress the other attendees. So when Johnson started complimenting Justin's artwork, he shot Johnson an annoyed look and declared, "I'm with Brian, so don't even bother." He'd assumed that Johnson was trying to pick him up. He and Brian were clearly rivals. Johnson was stunned. He tried to ignore Justin's statement and press his "suit," but when Justin glared at him as though he were dung on the bottom of his shoe, he backed off. As he left the show, he muttered, "Fucking Kinney."


	6. The Morning After

At 3pm, Justin walked into his apartment with a silly grin on his face. He shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, sighing in contentment, before shaking his head and moving to sit on the couch. Daphne bounded out of her room when she heard the door, and, in her excitement, she nearly jumped onto her best friend's lap. Justin chuckled. Then he complained, but with no edge to his voice, as he pushed her over a bit, "Daph! Give a guy some breathing room!"

Daphne giggled. She kept poking Justin in the chest and belly as she urged him to spill. "So…how'd it go with G.Q. Super Hottie last night?"

Justin smiled. "His name is Brian."

Daphne sighed heavily. She huffed, "Keeping such juicy details from one's best friend should be against the law. In fact, I think it is, and it's punishable by tickle torture!"

Justin's eyes widened. He gestured frantically. "No. No! Daph!" Then Daphne was on top of him tickling his arm pits and, after she'd peeled his shoes and socks off, the bottoms of his feet, eliciting gales of laughter from her best friend. Two minutes later, red faced and out of breath, he begged, "Please, Daph…no…more. I'll talk! I'll talk!"

She sat back up and waited, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Justin sat up and rearranged his clothes. He didn't know how he was going to explain to Daphne something he did not fully understand himself. He looked down and confessed, "We didn't fuck."

________________________________________________

"We didn't fuck."

Cynthia's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and her jaw dropped. She exclaimed incredulously, "What?!! You two were so hot for each other that I thought you were gonna fuck right there in the gallery!"

Brian shrugged and tried to move past Cynthia. When that didn't work, he snapped, "Why are you here anyway? And don't fucking try to bullshit me!" He tossed her pretext back at her, that is, the contract she'd claimed needed to be signed immediately.

"So I was curious. Did you successfully steal Justin from Johnson? I have a right to know. I was the one who put you on his trail."

Brian sighed. He turned away from the prying woman, grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam from his minibar, and poured himself a tumbler full. He took a long drink before admitting softly, "I haven't offered him the internship yet."

Cynthia's heels clicked loudly on his hardwood floor as she approached him. When he turned back to look at her, he saw her tight face and crossed arms. "So let me get this straight. You didn't fuck him, and you didn't offer him a job?"

Brian just nodded.

"Then what the fuck did you do?"

________________________________________________

"Then what the fuck did you do?"

Justin smiled again, but this time his eyes lost focus as he remembered.

Daphne snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times. "Stay with me, Justin."

Justin laughed a little and blushed. "Sorry."

"Well!"

"It started out the way you probably imagined. The ride to his loft was crazy. He had a limo and a driver. The driver even opened the door for us." Justin smiled brightly. "I sat next to Brian, but the second the door was shut, he had me on his lap, straddling him. His hands were everywhere, it seemed, all at the same time. In my hair, on my ass, on my neck. He kissed me (sigh) _so_ deeply. I haven't been kissed like that, well, since the first time. I just melted into his arms. At first. Then I was so dizzy, but it was like I was on fire. I rubbed up against him and started touching him everywhere. I even slipped my hands under his clothes. His skin felt so soft, but I could feel the hard muscles beneath. It was fucking surreal. I thought we were gonna fuck right in the car."

When Justin fell silent, Daphne prodded impatiently, "Well! Why didn't you?"

Justin looked down at his hands and started fidgeting with his pants. "We probably would have, but then…"

Daphne cried out (nearly screaming she was so impatient), "What?"

Justin laughed, but the laughter didn't reach his eyes.

He stammered, "He felt the scar."

Daphne suddenly fell silent. She was strangely at a loss for words. She just stared at Justin with wide, concerned eyes.

His voice barely rising above a whisper, he continued, "He waited until we were upstairs, but then he started asking me all these questions."

Daphne just gaped. "You answered them?"

Justin nodded. He actually smiled. It wasn't a sunshine-y smile, but one of wonder. He was surprised at how much he'd shared with the man, too. He hadn't been able to talk about the bashing with anyone, not in detail. Not with Daphne, his mom, or the slew of therapists his mom had taken him to see. But somehow, he wasn't just able to talk about it with Brian. He had really wanted to share. He still couldn't understand why. "We talked all night. We were lying in his bed, fully dressed, in the dark. If not for the moonlight filtering through the window and onto his face, I wouldn't have been able to see anything. I can't even remember falling asleep, but I woke up in his arms."

Justin smiled and shook his head again. "In the morning, we talked some more. He told me about his son, Gus. He's three now."

Astonished, Daphne parroted, "He has a son?"

Justin nodded. "A lesbian friend of his wanted to have a child with her partner. He acted like it was no big deal, you know, saying that he was just the sperm donor. But I could see it in his eyes. He loves his son. Then he asked if was hungry."

Daphne laughed. "And you said, 'Yes' cause you're a fucking garbage disposal."

Justin glared at Daphne. "Hey!"

"What? I just call them as I see em."

Justin stuck out his tongue, but then continued, his voice filled with awe, "He took me to this little fish market. I swear it's so tiny that you'd never see it from the street if you didn't know it was there. We ordered some fresh shrimp and tilapia, and they steamed it with green beans and sweet potatoes. We walked to the river bank and sat on the grass."

"He actually sat on the grass in his Armani suit?"

Justin shook his head. "No way he would have done that. By then, he had changed into jeans and a wife beater."

"So you ate lunch on the grass…"

"Yeah. We shared it out of the Styrofoam container." Justin chuckled. "We forgot to grab plastic forks, so we ate with our hands. Good thing we remembered napkins. Toward the end, he let me feed him some shrimp, and, then, I licked the sauce off of his lips. I don't know what was in it, but it was delicious…"

Daphne giggled. "I'm guessing the sauce had a little help from G.Q. Super Hottie's lips."

Justin blushed. "Brian tossed what was left of our lunch and pulled me onto his lap."

"(shuddery sigh) God, Daphne, he kisses like no one else…"

________________________________________________

After Brian threatened Cynthia with a pink slip and even bodily harm, she left, though begrudgingly. Finally alone, Brian took his mug of coffee and sat down at the computer. Then he Googled "Justin Taylor Chris Hobbs."


	7. A Date

After spending the afternoon reading about Chris Hobbs and what the only unbiased article Brian could find called 'the bashing,' Brian had paced his loft. Thinking and pacing. Justin Taylor was a complication in every sense of the word. Brian had learned that Justin had been brutally attacked in the parking garage after his prom. Friends of the assailant, Chris Hobbs, had claimed that Justin had been making unwanted advances toward Hobbs in the weeks leading up to the prom, which was tantamount to sexual harassment. They further claimed that the last straw was Justin's asking Hobbs to dance at the prom. They felt that Justin deserved what he got and that Hobbs should not be punished.

The only person to speak out on Justin's behalf, Daphne Chanders, who Brian recognized as Justin's friend from the art show, told a completely different story. She said that Hobbs had made a pass at Justin, early in their senior year, one that Justin had not rejected. However, after the one 'sexual' encounter, Hobbs started bullying Justin, she theorized, because Hobbs was in the closet and resented the fact that Justin did not hide who he was or feel ashamed of it. According to Daphne, Hobbs was the one who asked Justin to dance, although the request was meant as a joke. Hobbs later followed Justin out to the parking garage and bashed his skull in with a baseball bat. Justin needed emergency brain surgery, was in a coma for a week, and spent two months in rehab trying to regain mobility in his right hand.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. According to the one sympathetic article Brian managed to find, Justin still drew and painted, but doing so was a struggle. It was a wonder he had managed to get into the Art Institute and thrive there, let alone qualify for participation in a school-sponsored art show so soon. Brian couldn't help but be impressed (seriously impressed) by the boy's determination.

According to that one sympathetic article, 'a profile in courage' _Out_ published, Hobbs had gotten off with community service and had then moved on as though nothing had ever happened. He still received his football scholarship and was Pitt's new shining star. Unfortunately, Justin's life would never be the same. Not only did the attack make doing art much more difficult but he had also started receiving hate mail and threatening phone calls. Before the attack, he had been hoping to attend the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts, but, afterward, he felt it prudent to apply to schools outside of Pennsylvania. To make matters worse, Justin's father had disowned him and refused to pay for his schooling. So Justin had spent the next year, what should have been his first year of college, working as a waiter in a diner and living with Daphne, who attended NYU, while he expanded his portfolio and applied for scholarships. In the end, the Art Institute had awarded Justin a scholarship that would pay for tuition, books, and studio fees for his first year.

Brian wondered what Justin would do for the remaining three. King & York might be willing to pay for it if Justin interned there and promised to work for them for some period of time after graduation. Brian really wanted to make that happen. He told himself that that was only because Justin was a brilliant artist who could potentially give them an edge over the competition, but, deep down, he knew that that was bullshit. It wasn't even that he felt bad for the kid, although, of course, he did. He couldn't stand the thought of homophobic assholes winning. Potentially ruining Justin's life while Hobbs lived a normal life, unencumbered by physical impairment, punishment, or even social stigma. He couldn't stand the thought that Hobbs had gotten off scot free. But sympathy was not Brian's primary motivation in wanting to bring him on as an intern. Brian wanted Justin around. Plain and simple.

That's where the situation got even messier. Brian didn't just want Justin around. He wanted to fuck him again. And again. And again. Brian never did repeats, and the less he knew about his sexual partners the better. He certainly never fucked where he worked, and he absolutely did not mix feelings with fucking. What little feelings and (ugh) caring Brian had were generally reserved for friends and his son.

Well, until now. Brian was going to not only offer Justin an internship (and get him money for school) but also fuck him, many, many times. And he already cared about the kid. Hell, he'd forfeited an opportunity for a marathon fuck in favor of talking. For some strange reason, he had wanted to get to know the boy, and he'd even taken him on what many would have called a date. He just couldn't help himself. Yup. Brian was fucked. Thankfully, he had many rationalizations prepared. Brian sighed heavily and picked up the phone. After a few rings, he drawled, "Justin. It's Brian Kinney. Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

*************

For the hundredth time that day, Brian wondered what the hell he was doing. He'd only ever gone on one date (before lunch with Justin the previous day), and he'd ended up fucking the waiter. Mikey and company would laugh their asses off if they could see Brian now, fussing about what to wear in preparation for a date with a fucking teenager. What they'd find even more ridiculous was that Brian had cooked. Brian-Fucking-Kinney had cooked. The world was clearly coming to an end. After much internal debate, Brian had decided that he didn't want to go out for dinner, as that would delay the fucking. Yet he still wanted to impress the kid (why, he had no fucking clue), so he'd spent the last few hours making perfectly tender prime rib (Brian-Fucking-Kinney never did anything half-assed), Waldorf salad (Justin had actually mentioned how much he liked it; the kid could probably work food into any conversation), and fried sweet potatoes. Brian rarely ever ate such high-calorie meals, especially after 7pm, but he intended to spend most of the night working it off. That put a smile on his face. More of a smirk, really.

Brian had considered picking the kid up, in the company limo, of course, but he didn't want to risk burning the loft down, and he'd be hard-pressed to justify the limo's use to ferry someone to his loft. Fucking a twink into the mattress was hardly an accepted recruiting method. Brian ran his fingers through his hair one more time and adjusted his maroon silk shirt. Just then, the buzzer sounded indicating that his company had arrived. Brian unfastened another button on his shirt (making it three), sighed, and moved to answer the door.

Brian slid the loft door open to reveal a flustered, but very hot blond. Justin was wearing a tight sky blue short-sleeved shirt and form-fitting grey pants. Apparently, Justin had decided that Brian would be fucking him tonight. If Brian hadn't already planned to, his cock, which was stirring at the very sight of Justin, would have forced his hand. In fact, it took all Brian's willpower to usher him in without ravaging his plump cherry-red lips or groping his luscious bubble butt.

Justin, feeling Brian's eyes roaming his body hungrily, which was, of course, the reaction he'd been hoping for, blushed a pretty pink and said nervously, "Hey."

Brian smiled and drawled, "Hey." After a pause he added, "Come in and have a seat at the table. Dinner's about ready."

Justin's eyes widened. "You cooked?"

Brian just nodded.

During dinner, Brian asked Justin about his classes and his show, but, as much as he tried, he couldn't focus on Justin's answers. All he could see were those gorgeous lips sucking dressing off of the grapes and apples in the salad and his little pink tongue darting out and gliding slowly, so slowly, over his lips after eating a particularly succulent piece of meat (What Brian wouldn't have given to feed Justin a different kind of meat). All he could hear were the husky "mmm" noises vibrating in Justin's beautiful throat. The boy's skin was soft and smooth and looked like porcelain. Coupled with those scrumptious lips, crystal blue eyes, and silky blond hair, he was quite simply a work of art.

Justin became more and more nervous as dinner progressed. Brian didn't speak much and ate very little. He spent almost the entire dinner fixing Justin with the most intense gaze Justin had ever seen, his hazel eyes dark with desire and burning into him. Justin hadn't felt anything like that since his mystery lover had popped his cherry. It was disconcerting, but it was also turning him on like crazy. He kept fidgeting in his seat because his cock had been painfully erect for most of the meal. He wanted to straddle the man in his chair and be consumed by those soft, but firm lips, feel the man's strong hands all over his body, and grind their cocks together until they both exploded.

Both men had decided that now was the time, for Justin, to straddle Brian, and for Brian, to feed Justin his cock, to see those perfect lips sliding over his shaft, when the door buzzer sounded. Brian had every intention of ignoring the intruder, but then she (as it turns out) banged on the door and called out, "Brian, it's Cynthia. We have an emergency."

Brian growled, which, unfortunately, just made Justin's cock ache more. Then the man rose, slid the door open, and frowned at the blonde woman. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Someone better have died."

She smiled and walked in. "Nope. Worse. Brown Athletics decided that, despite everything they said when you pitched the idea, they want something a little different."

Brian sighed heavily and slammed the door shut. "You're fucking kidding me!" King & York were set to launch the Brown Athletics campaign the next day.

"I wish I were." Observing Justin (and the home-cooked meal, the _home-cooked meal_??) for the first time since she'd walked in, she approached a very embarrassed Justin (you'd have to be blind to miss his erection). "Hello. I'm Cynthia, Brian's assistant. You must be Justin."

Justin nodded, his eyes widening. Had Brian mentioned him to her?

"I'm sorry to interrupt your…"

Brian closed his eyes and implored her (in his head) not to say the word.

_Don't say it._

_Don't say it._

"…date."

Fuck.

Brian sighed and avoided her very amused gaze. Justin looked over at Brian uneasily. "If you need to work, we can do this another time…"

Brian smirked and shook his head. He pointed to Justin. "You stay."

Then he pointed to Cynthia. "You go."

Cynthia smiled. "Sure thing, boss." Turning to Justin, she said, "It was nice meeting you."

Justin nodded and smiled.

As Cynthia glided out the door, she said, "Have fun on the rest of your..."

_Don't say it._

_Don't say it._

"…date." Brian winced and fixed Cynthia with an icy glare.

Brian muttered, "Just get the fuck out."

Cynthia giggled and did just that. Brian slammed the door and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't even notice that Justin had risen and approached him until he spoke. "Are you sure you don't want me to go?"

Brian nodded. That was the only thing he was sure of. "Maybe you can help me."

Justin quirked an eyebrow.

Brian smiled. "You are, after all, a brilliant artist, are you not?"

Justin smiled and blushed. "I don't know about brilliant…"

So Brian and Justin spent the rest of the evening brainstorming. Just when Brian was sure his fate was sealed, and that he was going to lose the account he'd spent a month winning, Justin piped up, "What if you used animation?"

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

"You could start each segment with a blur of colors that change shape to form the athletes and then have the actual athletes (or the actors and actresses playing them) emerge from the animation. That would draw audience members in, make them curious, and would suggest fluid motion, indicating that the sports paraphernalia…"

Brian smiled at Justin's use of the word paraphernalia. Clearly, Justin wasn't the sporty type.

"…was an extension of the athlete's bodies. Comfortable and performance enhancing."

Brian pulled Justin into his lap and kissed him passionately. Then he drawled, "And you said you weren't brilliant…"

Justin blushed (and not just because of the compliment).

Brian and Justin worked into the wee hours making a presentation for the next day. They didn't fuck, but Brian did offer Justin an internship, which Justin gladly accepted. While Brian put some finishing touches on the presentation, Justin fell asleep on Brian's bed, fully clothed. Twenty minutes later, Brian, also fully clothed, gathered Justin into his arms, covered them with the duvet, and fell asleep, too.


	8. Justin's First Day at King & York Part 1

Justin took a deep breath and straightened his black button down shirt and ran his hands along the front and back of his khaki slacks. They were a bit snug to highlight his best feature, his ass. Daphne had warned Justin that if he and Brian didn't fuck soon, they might never, and that, _that_, was a horrifying thought. Justin had never wanted another man more than he wanted Brian. Justin hoped that they would fuck many, many times, but he was determined that they would do so at least once. Justin started a bit at the slight ding indicating that the elevator had reached the twentieth floor, the floor where the offices of King & York were situated. Justin took another deep breath, this time, a shuddery breath, plastered a bright smile on his face (though he was only able to do so because he was so practiced at smiling through boredom and disgust at his mother's country club functions), and strode purposefully forward.

After Justin had given his name to the receptionist at the huge desk immediately inside the wide glass doors, a flustered looking balding man in a blue and white striped button down shirt (his sleeves rolled up to his elbows), light khaki pants, and red suspenders with a pencil slipped behind one ear emerged from one of the two hallways beyond the receptionist's desk. Then, after they briefly exchanged names and shook hands, the man, Mr. Ryan, hurriedly ushered Justin back down the hallway from which he had just emerged. They walked down the gleaming white hallway until they reached a huge room filled with drafting tables and computers. Once inside, Mr. Ryan promptly forgot all about Justin due to the ongoing ruckus. The moment they entered, Mr. Ryan was surrounded by angry men and women, all of them complaining loudly and simultaneously. They pushed Justin to the side to get to Mr. Ryan. Mr. Ryan shouted louder and louder, trying to make himself heard over the din of voices. When he finally managed it, he shouted, "In the conference room! Settle down. Settle down. I'll answer all your questions and address all your concerns in the conference room."

Then everyone, including Mr. Ryan, headed out the door and down the hallway to another room about 20 feet away. Justin wasn't sure what to do. He hesitated for a few minutes, but then followed, albeit slowly. When he reached the room they had all filed into, he peeked in. Only one seat was open. It was right next to Mr. Ryan, who was sitting at the head of the table on the other side of the room. If Justin were to go sit down, he would have to walk by everyone. Justin swung to the other side of the doorway, flattening himself against the wall. His breathing was suddenly ragged. The mere thought of walking by all those people, people he didn't know, and interrupting their meeting, which they had begun immediately upon entering the room, had filled Justin with anxiety. His heart was pounding so fast. Justin shook his head. He whispered, "No fucking way."

He walked back down the hallway, walking a bit quicker as he passed the door to the conference room, and then into the room Mr. Ryan had first taken him. Then he sat in front of one of the drafting tables. His eyes fell onto a large drawing with a note attached. It read, "What the fuck were you thinking? This is NOT (the word was written in all uppercase letters and even underlined a few times) dynamic! BK

Justin chuckled. He could hear Brian shouting those words in annoyance; in the short time Justin had known Brian, he had learned that Brian was a bit impatient and would not suffer fools. But even if Justin had not recognized the tone or seen the 'signature,' he would have guessed the note was from Brian. His angular scrawl was unmistakable (Justin had seen it a couple of days before when they were working on Brian's presentation).

Justin smiled and fingered the words for a moment. _Brian_. Justin couldn't wait to see him again. He hadn't seen him since the morning after their date. To his pleasant surprise, Justin had awoken in Brian's arms. He had even pretended to be sleeping for a few minutes after Brian had awoken so that Brian would hold him a bit longer. Justin smiled even more brightly. The fact that Brian had chosen to continue holding Justin when he thought Justin was asleep gave him hope that he and Brian would one day soon be fucking, and perhaps even on a regular basis. Justin shook his head and moved the note aside so he could look at the drawing. He studied it intently for a few moments before stating softly, "Orange. If they just replaced the blue with orange, that ought to liven this up substantially."

A sexy drawl drew Justin's attention to the door. "Is that so?"

Justin colored when he saw that it was Brian. He had lost the power of speech, so he just nodded. Then Brian was leaning over him, staring at the drawing, and, a moment and a furrowed brow and a soft smile later, brushing his cheek against Justin's and whispering huskily in his ear, "Good boy. Go to the head of the class."

Justin smiled and trembled a bit.


	9. Justin's First Day at King & York Part 2

Brian reached over Justin, which Justin liked very much, as Brian had to lean a bit closer to do so, causing Brian's scent (a slightly sweet musk mixed with the faint aroma of coffee and cigarettes) to wash over him. Justin drew in a shuddery breath. He didn't think he'd ever smelled anything more intoxicating. Pen in hand, Brian grabbed a slip of paper lying next to the drawing and jotted down the following: "Use orange, not blue. BK" Then he gave Justin a thrill (and a full body shiver) by drawing his tongue along Justin's ear and sucking on his ear lobe before whispering huskily, "Later, Sunshine," and exiting the room with a smirk. Justin stared after Brian in wonder. "Sunshine?" he thought. He was still staring at the doorway when Mr. Ryan and the people who had, just twenty minutes before, been screeching filed back in.

A few hours later, at 5:10 pm (Justin was scheduled to work at King & York afternoons three days a week), as Justin stepped onto the elevator, looking a bit glum, for he had only seen Brian the one time, someone pushed past Justin and then swung around behind him, pulling Justin back into his arms just as the doors closed. Justin stiffened at first, but then melted into the person's embrace when that person whispered, "Wanna come over to my house to play?" Justin recognized Brian's sexy drawl immediately, as soon as Brian had uttered the first word. Justin flushed with pleasure. His cock immediately stirred to life. Then he whispered back, his voice husky with desire, "Sure." Brian nuzzled Justin's neck for a few moments, causing Justin's body to heat considerably and his vision to swim. Justin was sure he hadn't felt sensations so delicious in a couple of years at least and maybe never. To Justin's delight, those few moments seemed to stretch into minutes. Justin lost all conception of time, and his body seemed to be both melting and floating.

Suddenly, Justin felt as though someone had dumped a pitcher of cold water over his head. Brian was no longer nuzzling Justin's neck or even behind him. Without Justin's realizing it, the elevator doors had opened, and Brian was now in the lobby, watching Justin with a smug smirk. He drawled, "Meet me at the newsstand on the corner." Then he was gone. Justin blinked languidly. In fact, he was still so dazed that when the elevator doors closed, Justin still hadn't moved. Not a millimeter. The attendant ding woke Justin up. He immediately thrust his arm out, pressed the open doors button, and hurried through.

Justin waited a couple of minutes, pretending to examine the paintings hanging on the wall, though he was so excited he couldn't have told anyone what they depicted, and then walked quickly out the revolving door and down the street. When he reached the newsstand, he looked around in confusion. Brian was nowhere to be seen. He frowned. He jumped when a hand reached out from beside the stand, Brian's, it turned out, and pulled him (by the wrist) along a cross-street and then down a staircase leading into the subway. For the first time in his life, Justin was thankful that the subway was so crowded. No seats were open, so they stood, Brian behind him and so close. Halfway to Brian's stop, the train gave a sudden lurch, and Brian grabbed Justin around the waist with one arm. A few minutes later, when the train finally reached Brian's stop, Brian's arm was still around Justin's waist. Brian had pulled Justin even closer, so close that Justin could feel Brian's erection pressing against his back. The bright smile that observation had placed on Justin's face remained there even after they'd gotten off the train and were walking down Brian's street. Brian couldn't help but notice Justin's goofy grin, and when they started up the stairs to the main entrance of Brian's building (and Justin couldn't see his face), he smiled, too, a soft smile.

Once they were inside Brian's loft, Brian surprised Justin by directing him to sit on the couch and handing him a bottle of water. Justin just stared at the bottle for moment, though he did sit down. Brian joined him. Brian observed Justin for a moment, smirking at him. Amusement in his voice, he asked, "Disappointed?"

Justin's eyes widened. He quickly shook his head and smiled weakly. "No, of course not."

Brian chuckled. Then he inquired, his voice serious, "So how was your first day?"

Justin wrinkled his nose cutely (or so Brian thought, though he would never voice that observation, not even under torture) and replied hesitantly, "Um…it was okay."

Brian quirked an eyebrow. "Just okay?"

Justin shrugged. "I mostly got people coffee and delivered messages."

Brian scowled. When Justin saw the look on Brian's face, he gestured frantically. "No, you don't need to say anything to Mr. Ryan. It's okay. Maybe it was just a slow day."

Brian growled, "I didn't recruit you to be a fucking errand boy. I could have gotten someone from one of the community colleges for that. You're at King & York to give us an edge, to bring the art department new ideas, a fresh perspective. Most of those idiots have been out of school for a decade!"

A moment later, Brian smiled unexpectedly. He drawled, "On Wednesday, you report to _me_, not Ryan. Let's see how Ryan feels about my using your ideas and not those he and his tired staff bring me."

Justin paled. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble." A giving, patient, appreciative, and modest person with perfect manners, Justin was universally liked wherever he went. The thought of Brian passing over Mr. Ryan's ideas for Justin's, even if Justin's ideas were good enough to merit such special consideration, horrified him a little. The art department would despise him.

Brian clenched his jaw. Then he hissed, "Did you take this internship to make a splash and actually learn something about advertising or to win a popularity contest?"

Justin turned three shades of red. It was like Brian had been able to read his mind. Feeling appropriately chastened, he asked softly, "What time on Wednesday?"

Brian's face still held a grave expression, but his eyes twinkled.


	10. Working Up the Courage, Part 1

It was Tuesday night. Justin was lying on the couch staring up at the ceiling. Daphne was trying to write a paper, but she was distracted by Justin's periodic sighs. After spending nearly fifteen minutes writing and re-writing the same sentence, Daphne growled in frustration and slammed the drawer holding her keyboard closed. Then she cried, "What? What is going on with you?"

Justin didn't answer.

Daphne snapped, "Justin!"

Justin turned his head toward her slowly, as though waking from a dream. Then he said, "Huh?"

Daphne laughed. Having regained her patience, she said, in a softer voice, "Clearly you have something on your mind. You keep sighing loudly. So out with it."

Justin protested, "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Daphne just stared at him blankly.

Justin smiled, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Really! I'm fine."

Daphne sighed. "Yeah right. Let's just deal with this, so I can get back to my paper. It's due tomorrow morning."

Justin frowned. He didn't really want to tell Daphne what was bothering him. It was embarrassing. But…he wasn't sure what to do. Maybe she could help. Finally, after a couple minutes of dead silence and Daphne's staring, he admitted, his voice barely rising above a whisper, "Nothing's happened between Brian and me."

Daphne asked incredulously, "Wait, you _still_ haven't fucked?"

Justin let his head fall and replied gloomily, "No."

"That's not good. Not good at all."

Justin threw up his hands and exclaimed hotly, "You think I don't know that?"

Daphne furrowed her brow, thinking. She inquired, "What do you do when you're together if you don't fuck?"

"Talk. Eat. Work. Last night, we talked about work a little and then ordered Thai food and watched a couple of James Dean movies. _East of Eden_ and _Rebel Without a Cause_. _Rebel Without a Cause_ was one of the weirdest movies I've ever seen. After it was over, Brian told me that one of the characters, Plato, who idolizes James Dean's character Jim, reminds him of his best friend Mikey. He talked about him for a while, but, then, Cynthia, his assistant, called about work. I must have fallen asleep waiting for him because I awoke the next morning in his bed, still dressed. It looked like he'd slept next to me, and I think I remember him holding me, though that might have been a dream. When I got up, I found a note. Here."

Justin handed her a small piece of paper, one that he'd been holding the whole time, though Daphne hadn't noticed it before. On it were the following words:

Sunshine,

I had to go in early. Help yourself to coffee and a shower.

Later.

B

Daphne smiled. "Sunshine?"

Justin laughed. "I don't know why he calls me that." Daphne couldn't help but smile, too. Justin's eyes were sparkling. Clearly he liked the pet name.

Justin smelled his wrist and sighed happily. "I used his shampoo and body wash in the shower. I smelled him on me all day…" Then he frowned. "I don't know what to do. You saw how I was dressed for our date and for my first day. I might as well have had a 'Fuck Me' sign on my forehead. And yesterday, on the train ride, he held me close. I could feel his erection. I know he wants me. I know he does. I don't understand why he keeps hesitating."

Daphne smiled a wicked smile. "Have you considered doing something a bit more extreme than donning tight clothes?"

Justin looked over at her curiously. "Like what?"

Daphne giggled and rubbed her hands together. "The next time you're at his loft, you could go to the bathroom, strip, and then emerge wearing only a smile and a hard on. Or you could corner him in his office, get him hard, and then drop to your knees. No man can refuse a blowjob. Certainly not a man like Brian, who exudes sex."

Justin blushed and shook his head. "No way! No way could I do that…" He smiled shyly. He wished he had the confidence, the guts, to do something so forward. But if Brian rejected him, he'd be crushed. Decimated.

Daphne prodded, "You know he wants you; you know he's a highly sexual being. All he needs is a nudge."

Justin sighed and furrowed his brow. Soon, he was deep in thought, pondering possible scenarios. Fortunately for Daphne, he did so in complete silence.

TBC…soon


	11. Working Up the Courage, Part 2

Justin was sitting at a drafting table in a corner of Brian's office, pencil in hand, but his mind was very far from the project he was working on. Brian was at his desk, buried in paperwork. Brian wanted to poach one of Smith, Thomas & Daniels's best clients, so Brian was conducting research on past ad campaigns ST&D had done for the client, looking for weaknesses and brainstorming ways to overcome them. Cynthia had managed to bait Liz, Johnson's assistant, into revealing that Johnson was currently working on an ad for a new product. Brian had asked Justin to sketch a few preliminary ideas he'd had for the product. Justin had already finished the sketches Brian had requested and had even done another based on a gut feeling he'd had.

Justin told himself that he simply did not want to disturb Brian (by presenting his sketches to him), deeply engrossed in work as Brian was, and, indeed, that was true, but, more than anything, Justin just liked watching Brian work. Brian was so focused and driven. His hair was mussed from frequently running his fingers through it, and his eyes were darker than usual, chocolate with flecks of amber. Brian had also loosened his tie and unfastened the two top buttons of his shirt, Justin imagined, because Brian was frustrated. Whatever the reason, in doing so, Brian had exposed the few inches of bronze skin forming his perfectly shaped neck and the upper part of his chest. Justin couldn't help remembering their make out session in the limousine the night they'd met, when Justin had sat on Brian's lap, traced the long lines of Brian's neck, and threaded his fingers through Brian's soft chestnut hair. Justin sighed softly. Brian was so beautiful. Justin was dying to draw the man, but, even more, to strip off his clothes slowly and touch, lick, and suck on every single inch of his body. The very thought had his dick rock hard. What he wouldn't give to sit on Brian's lap once more, right now, in fact, lean close, breathing in his sweet, yet musky scent, and kiss Brian's soft, firm lips.

Unexpectedly, Brian looked up. The second Brian and Justin's eyes met, Justin glanced away, blushing deeply, his heart beating so hard he thought it might explode out of his chest. He cursed himself inwardly. Getting caught staring, no, gazing, at Brian was so embarrassing. Even though they'd kissed (and grinded) and had a date, Brian was now his boss, and he'd been sending Justin mixed messages since…since he'd first touched Justin's scar. Suddenly Justin couldn't breathe. Suddenly Brian's hesitation was starting to make sense. The scar had thrown Brian. Rather than fucking Justin, Brian had asked about the scar, about the bashing. They'd made out again the next day and had had a date the next night. After Cynthia's interruption, Brian had offered him a job, and they hadn't done anything since that second make out session. Justin's scar had caused Brian to slow down, and the job had caused Brian to stop. He still flirted, but Brian hadn't so much as given him a peck on the lips in several days, though Justin'd seen Brian on each of those days. Daphne was so right. If Justin left Brian to his own devices, their relationship or whatever would end before it had really begun. Justin's heart stopped beating, and his chest felt hollow. He couldn't let that happen. He just couldn't.

Justin peeked back up at Brian. He was still looking at him. Justin blushed more deeply, but he maintained eye contact. Justin trembled, but felt a surge of adrenaline, too. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Justin knew exactly what to do. He smiled and said, keeping his voice as relaxed as he could, "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?"

Brian tilted his head curiously, but then, still maintaining eye contact, nodded. When Justin passed Cynthia's desk, he noted that Cynthia was gone. He looked down at his watch. 12:03 pm. Justin smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. Cynthia was most likely at lunch. Justin held both coffee cups in his left hand, like a server, his fingers through the handles. With his right, he furtively locked the door. Then he set the mugs down. Brian had turned his attention back to his research, but looked up when Justin set Brian's mug down.

Brian muttered, "Thanks" and then looked back down.

Justin moved behind Brian and inquired softly, "You look tense. Have you hit a roadblock?"

Brian groaned. "I hate to admit it, but Johnson did a pretty good job on these ads…"

Brian paused when he felt strong, slight hands on his neck. After a moment, he continued, "I'm going to have to ratchet up my game to get this guy…" His words melted into a soft moan as Justin alternately caressed and massaged Brian's shoulders and neck. Justin drew in his breath sharply when Brian swiveled around in his chair.

Brian tilted his head and smiled. He asked in a lilting voice, "Whatcha doing, Sunshine?"

Justin froze. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. But then he stated slowly, with a confidence he did not feel, "Just trying to boost office efficiency. Muscle tension isn't exactly conducive to creativity."

Brian smirked and nodded his head slowly. "Indeed, not."

Justin breathed, "Close your eyes."

Brian looked back at Justin, into his eyes, for a few seconds, but then, he complied. Justin caressed Brian's face, running his fingers gently across Brian's forehead and down over his cheeks and eyes. Then he moved his hands down to Brian's neck and started massaging it.

Brian said, his voice a bit husky, "That feels good."

Justin continued massaging Brian's neck for a couple of minutes, but then slipped his hands beneath Brian's shirt. He slid them over the exposed portion of Brian's chest to his shoulders and began rubbing them. Brian moaned softly. But his breath caught in his throat when Justin started unfastening the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Brian kept his eyes closed, but asked, "Whatcha doing?" His voice was light, but there was a slight quake in it. He wasn't used to giving someone else control.

Justin replied calmly, "The way you've been sitting, holding yourself, the tension in your shoulders likely radiated outward and down to your upper arms. They must ache."

Brian admitted, "Actually, they do."

When Justin had finished unbuttoning Brian's shirt, he untucked it and opened it wide. Then he moved his hands from Brian's waist upward, running his fingertips lightly over Brian's abdomen, chest, and neck. Then he slid his hands over Brian's shoulders and down to his upper arms. Justin's light touches caused Brian to shiver and his cock to harden. Justin started to massage Brian's upper arms, and, then, to both Brian and Justin's great surprise, Justin sat on Brian's lap, straddling him. Unconsciously, Brian moved his hands up to Justin's waist.

Brian opened his eyes then, looking into Justin's. They were heavy with desire. Justin was flushed and panting. To Brian's great surprise (he'd never refused a man he wanted before), Brian protested, in a husky whisper, "We can't. Anyone could walk in."

Justin breathed, "I locked the door."

Brian continued to protest. "Cynthia…" but Justin cut him off, "She's at lunch." Then Justin let his head fall onto Brian's shoulder, slid his hands back up to Brian's neck and down, lightly caressing Brian's chest and abdomen, his eyes following their movement, gazing at the contours of his body appreciatively, and whispered, his warm breath making soft puffs against Brian's neck, sending delicious shivers throughout Brian's body, "I know you want me, Brian. And I want you. More than I've ever wanted anyone else. More than I ever thought possible." Then Justin lifted his head. He was blushing, but he held his gaze steady, staring deep into Brian's eyes. Brian swallowed hard.


	12. Denied Sort Of

Brian decided that he was crazy. He'd lost his fucking mind. He found himself saying something he'd never thought he'd say. "Justin, you're right."

Justin looked up, his expression hopeful, excited, and a little terrified.

After a long pause, Brian continued, "I _do_ want you. But…why don't we take things slow?"

Justin just stared at Brian. Brian was such a puzzle. Justin had thought he knew the type of man Brian was when they'd first met, when he'd first laid eyes on him. His sexy drawl, slick appearance, and player-like flirting and boldness had been incredibly misleading. None of that meshed with the Brian on whose lap Justin now sat. Justin comforted himself with the knowledge that at least Brian had admitted that he wanted Justin. Maybe their…whatever wasn't doomed never to happen after all.

Brian swallowed hard. Then he asked, a little hesitantly, "How about we go on another (he gritted his teeth) date? Tonight."

Justin's face exploded into a blindingly bright broad smile. Then he nodded and replied, a little shyly, "Okay." Justin was immensely pleased with this turn of events, but still, he couldn't help but lean in, nudge Brian's nose, and then place a tender kiss on Brian's lips. Brian's breath actually caught in his throat, which he promptly cleared the second Justin moved off his lap. Then he quickly tucked and buttoned his shirt. Still turned away from Justin, who was back at the drafting table, Brian sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. What the fuck was he getting himself into? What the fuck was he becoming? He hadn't fucked anyone since he had met Justin, not even Justin. And that was unprecedented. After becoming sexually active at 14, he hadn't gone a day without fucking, not since he'd gotten the clap in college (the doctor had told him he needed to abstain for five days). Cynthia would laugh her ass of if she knew. Fuck, pretty much everyone he knew would have a field day with this. When Brian finally turned around, returning his attention to Johnson's ads, he couldn't stop himself from glancing at Justin. Justin was drawing, a huge grin on his face. Brian couldn't help but smile, too. He truly had lost his fucking mind.

Eight hours later, Brian found himself in the company car, a limo, pulling up to the ugliest building he'd ever seen (it had taken the driver ten minutes of navigating narrow one way streets to get here from the main road; Brian was quickly losing patience). Then he found himself walking (walking!) the three flights to Justin's apartment, dodging dog shit and puddles of piss (what, the dog couldn't make it the three flights to the street? Or was it the owner who was too lazy? In any case, if his shoes were ruined, there would be hell to pay). Brian wrinkled his nose and hopped the last two steps (past a substantial pile of fresh dog shit) and knocked on 12. A surprised Justin flung the door open a moment later. Brian entered immediately. He might have waited for an invitation, might have, but he didn't want to stand next to dog shit for even a second longer than he had to. As he stepped inside, Brian said, a little coldly (he was still a little pissed about the dog shit), "I hope you looked through the peephole first; the door downstairs is propped open; no telling what or who has access to your building."

Justin laughed a little uncomfortably, "Of yeah, some of my neighbors are a little lazy. They go out for something and don't want to use their key to get back in."

Brian sighed. "At the very least, you should have a better lock installed on this door. And don't open it until you know who it is."

Justin smiled. Brian was worried about his safety. "So, um, what brings you by? How did you even know where I lived?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "As your boss, a change Ryan was a little pissed about, I have access to your employment file."

Justin stiffened and asked nervously, "He was pissed?"

Brian nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Really made my evening."

Justin was immediately put at ease by Brian's nonchalance. So he found himself drawling, "And you're here in your capacity as my boss…making sure my apartment is locked up tight?"

"No. Did you forget about our…(Brian frowned) date?"

Justin smiled. He was suddenly flushed. "No, but I thought you had."

"Nope. So put on your best party dress, and let's get the fuck out of this hellhole."

Justin giggled, yes, he actually giggled, as he led Brian into the living room. "It's not that bad."

As Brian looked around at the chipping paint, low ceilings, and the frighteningly small living room/kitchen, onto which two tiny bedrooms opened, he shook his head. Way too small for one person, let alone two. "Yes, yes, it is." He frowned, and after a minute of debating, he sat down on the couch. It looked like they'd found it on the side of the road. He hoped to hell they had gotten it cleaned before bringing it inside, but he highly doubted that they had. He grimaced. He was probably sitting on dried cum and who knows what else. He'd have to have his overcoat dry cleaned. Twice.

Daphne bounded out of her room. "Brian!" she exclaimed. "What brings you here?" As she spoke, she started nudging Justin. Justin chuckled, but then cried, "Daph, please!" Then in a softer voice, he said, "Help me find something to wear."


	13. Love, or Whatever, Really Does Hurt

As Justin and Brian were walking down the exterior staircase, it started to rain. Brian frowned, but Justin smiled brightly and tilted his face skyward.

Brian muttered, "What the fuck are you doing?"

Justin didn't even look at Brian. He simply laughed and spun around. "I'm enjoying the rain. The city gets so hot, and it can be a little gross…trash everywhere; the buildings, the streets, and even some of the people covered in filth…"

Brian rolled his eyes and interjected, "Not where I live."

Justin shook his head. "I love the smell and the feel of rain on iron, stone, cement, and leaves…"

Brian just stared at Justin blankly for a moment. Then he sighed and pulled out his phone. "Drive a few blocks and wait."

Justin looked at Brian in confusion. Brian plastered a fake smile on his face and took Justin's hand. In a somewhat mocking voice, he prodded, "Come on, Ann Marie, let's enjoy the rain."

Justin would have been insulted by the reference, he was hardly an aspiring actress from Brewster, but he was too happy that Brian was offering to walk with him in the rain, holding hands. He smiled one of his highest wattage smiles and threaded their fingers together. In spite of himself, Brian smiled at Justin. A soft smile. Then half-laughing, he exclaimed, "Why are you so weird?"

Justin shrugged. "I live in this neighborhood because it's cheap, and, despite appearances, it's safe. Plus, we have roof access. And I never want to be a person who rushes from a building into a fancy car and then into another or who reads every time he's on the subway. I moved here because I wanted to experience the city, everything about it, including the filth."

Brian said nothing in response, but suddenly, his chest felt hollow. He couldn't help but admire Justin's bravery and exuberance. After what he'd been through, the bashing, the harassment, the loss of function in his hand, the abandonment of his family, it was a wonder he had not completely shut down. It was a wonder he was not angry at the world. Suddenly Brian needed…something. So he pulled Justin against him roughly and kissed him. At first it was just a peck, but then, Brian released Justin's hand, slid his hands behind Justin's neck, and thrust his tongue into Justin's mouth. Justin sighed softly, slid his arms up to Brian's neck, and kissed him back, his fire meeting Brian's own. They stood like that, in the middle of the sidewalk, for a few minutes, making out, waves of heat coursing through them despite the chill of the rain falling on their faces. Then they broke apart, flushed and panting, and continued on toward the limo, but more slowly. Neither was eager for their walk in the rain to end.

In the car, Brian actually put his arm around Justin's shoulder. Justin was in heaven. He would have been happy if they spent the entire date in the limo, but they ended up at a restaurant. And not just any restaurant, but the "it place" of the week, Ocean. It served Thai cuisine, but the dishes reputedly included French, Italian, and Mexican touches. The tables were situated in a fountain of sorts. Aqueducts/moats of beautiful grey stone had been constructed all around the room. They were all connected to a waterfall fountain in the center of the restaurant, which fed water into all the different branches. In the branches, water lilies floated here and there. In fact, according to the article Justin had read about Ocean, all the dishes were delivered via small boats floating in the branches. The lighting was dim, blue and green. Justin never thought he'd ever be able to eat in such a fancy, chic place. He was even more pleasantly surprised when the host led them to one of the three tables situated around the waterfall. Everyone wanted to sit at one of these three tables, but very few had enough money or clout to be offered one. Once the host had departed, Justin exclaimed, though softly, "Oh my God, Brian! This is incredible…getting a reservation for this place, a week after it opened, and one of the best tables. Daphne's going to die when I tell her!"

Brian couldn't help but smile. For some strange reason, putting a bright smile on Justin's face made him happy…and, though he would never admit it, he kind of liked impressing him. The conversation was sparse. Justin was too busy sampling the restaurant's signature dishes (not only his own but also Brian's). Most of what came out of Justin's mouth was soft moans and contented sighs. It was incredibly hot. So much so that when they left, Brian hung his coat over his arm to hide his obvious erection.

Now that they were back in the limo, Brian was unsure what to do. He had planned to take Justin to this week's hottest club, but he wasn't sure he could handle watching Justin writhing to music with a pounding bass, not if he wanted to keep their date relatively chaste. Dinner had been torture enough. Brian sighed. What the fuck was he doing? He should take him to the club and, after a few songs, drag him into a dark hallway and fuck him against a wall. Brian groaned and directed the driver to take them back to Justin's building.

Justin was confused. Had he done something wrong? But his mood was back on the upswing when Brian grabbed a bottle of champagne (Dom) and two glasses and then took his hand, leading him out of the car. Then he said, "Care to show me the view?"

Justin smiled brightly and nodded. "Sounds great."

In short order, they were sitting on a blanket on the roof (Justin had grabbed one on their way up), drinking champagne and looking at the stars, which had re-emerged shortly after the rain had stopped. Brian spent the next two hours trying to keep a safe distance away from Justin, but it wasn't easy. After a couple glasses of champagne, Justin decided it would be cool to look down at the street from various vantage points. Unfortunately, the ledge was made of smooth stone, still wet from the rain, so Brian ended up holding Justin in his arms the whole time, leaning over it with him every time doing so struck Justin's fancy. Brian wasn't sure whether his senses were distorted due to the raging hard on he'd had since the restaurant, but Justin smelled and felt so good in his arms. Every time they leaned over the ledge, it took all his willpower not to push Justin up against the door (Brian was horny as hell, but not stupid; no way was he going to risk a ledge fuck) and fuck him into tomorrow. Then after a third glass of champagne, when they were "safely" back on the blanket, Justin thought it would be a good idea to lay his head on Brian's lap. Brian endured thirty minutes of torture, picturing Justin turning his head just a little bit, unzipping his pants, and sucking his dick. The entire time, he unconsciously ran his fingers through Justin's silky blond hair. When Brian could take the sexual tension no longer, he escorted Justin back down to his apartment, kissed his lips gently (no tongue; the dog shit was an ambience killer), and, once Justin was inside, ran down the stairs and jumped into the limo. He could barely wait the twenty minutes it took to get back to the loft before jerking off and cumming harder than he had in years.


	14. Postgame Show

Justin bounded into the apartment (he'd just come back from class). When he saw Daphne sitting at the computer, he lay down on the couch and admitted happily, "Well, yesterday, at work, I took your advice."

Daphne dropped the book she was holding. She exclaimed, "You did!"

"Kind of. I rubbed Brian's shoulders and touched him in various other places, even underneath his clothes…"

Daphne's eyes widened.

Justin sighed. "All above the waist though."

Daphne wrinkled her nose. "Oh."

"But I sat in his lap and told him that I wanted him and that I knew he wanted me."

Daphne grinned. "That's definitely progress!"

"Then he told me he _did_ want me…"

Daphne squealed, "Oh my God!"

Justin continued, in a more subdued, but not unhappy tone, "But he said we should take it slow, so he asked me out on a date. He even called it a date."

"Okay, so how far did you two go last night?"

Now it was Justin's turn to wrinkle his nose. "Not very. Let's see. He held my hand. We made out on the street."

"Ooo…PDA!"

"Yeah…it was raining, and he kissed me like…"

Daphne giggled, "Like you were the very air he needed to breathe…"

Justin blushed a little and replied shyly, "Yeah."

After a contented sigh, he added, "Then in the limo, he put his arm around me. And later, on the roof, he wrapped his arms around me from behind…and then a while after that, I laid my head on his lap, and he ran his fingers through my hair. We did that for like thirty minutes."

Another contented sigh.

"…Then right before he left, he kissed me on the lips, but it was just a peck. Course, the stairwell is kind of gross, so I can't blame him for making our goodbye quick."

Daphne grinned. "Well, that all suggests that he thinks of you as a sexual being, rather than as simply a friend."

Justin laughed. "I know he does! His erection was poking me in the back when he had his arms around me on the roof."

Daphne smacked Justin on the arm. "Then why the hell didn't you take off all your clothes or something?"

Justin shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, he said he wants to take it slow, and I get the sense that he's never done this before."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think he's ever dated anyone. I think that up until now, he's only ever had one-night stands…and as frustrating as it is, I like all his efforts to treat me different."

"So…you're dating? He's your boyfriend?"

***********

"I don't fucking know. You think you know everything, why don't you tell me?" Brian shouted from the couch in his office, on which he was lying.

Cynthia sighed. Then more patiently, she asked, "Are you currently fucking other people?"

"Do you see anyone here?" Brian extended his arms and looked around, his eyes wide.

Cynthia sighed. More heavily this time. "You know what I mean."

Brian turned away a bit. Through gritted teeth, he confessed, "No, I haven't fucked anyone since we met."

Cynthia's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Wow! Are you serious?"

Brian growled, "As a mad case of blue balls." Then he moaned, "Christ! I sound like a 16-year-old straight guy."

Cynthia shook her head. "Well, Brian, I hate to tell you this, but if you aren't fucking other people, and you're taking Justin on dates, Justin's your boyfriend."

"Oh God! Don't say that!" Brian had a genuine look of horror on his face.

"That's the definition, Brian. I'm not just making shit up."

Brian actually crossed his arms in defiance, reminding Cynthia of a two-year old who has just learned the word no. He hissed, "Brian Kinney doesn't _do_ boyfriends."

"Ok, fine. You say he's not your boyfriend, so go fuck Jonathan in accounting. He's hot, and he's been eyeing you since he was hired last week."

Brian didn't say or do anything. He just lay there. Frowning.

Cynthia prodded, "Well…go ahead…"

After a long, long pause, Brian said petulantly, "I don't want to fuck him."

"Yeah right. He's hot. That's all it ever takes with you."

"Okay, then I _choose_ not to fuck him. If I do…"

Cynthia's face lit up. "If you do, what? Justin might find out?"

Brian fixed her with an icy glare.

Cynthia started singing, "Brian Kinney has a boyfriend…"

"Shut up or I'll fire you."

"Firing me won't make Justin not your boyfriend."

"You have 10 seconds to depart of your own free will. After that, I might strangle you."

"Again, strangling me won't…."

"Get the fuck out!"

Cynthia smiled. Then she left. On her way out, she sang, "Brian Kinney has a boyfriend…"

Brian threw a book at the door, causing it to slam. Brian protested one last time, though he knew Cynthia couldn't hear him, "Justin's not my boyfriend." But even as he said the words, they rang false. He sighed heavily. Then he whispered, "Fuck. I think he is."

**********

Justin's face flushed with pleasure. Then in an animated voice, he said, "Fuck! I think he is! I mean, we go on dates, and from his responsiveness, I'd guess he hasn't been laid since before we met."

"His responsiveness?"

"Rubbing his shoulders and running my fingers lightly over his chest got him sooo hard!"

"Really?"

Justin nodded excitedly.

"Yeah, that's not the reaction of a man with a satisfying sex life. But shit, he could so totally have one."

"Yup. The other day at work, I saw some hot accountant checking him out."

"So…what happens now?"

***********

"Oh you're speaking to me again?"

"The death threat occurred ten minutes ago. Move on."

Cynthia chuckled and turned to face Brian, who was standing in the doorway between his office and her desk. He was squeezing a stress ball. From the frequency and intensity of the ball squeezing, Cynthia gathered he was extremely stressed.

"So…supposing Justin is my boyfriend, which (he gestured with a hand, still holding the ball) I am in no way conceding…what happens now?"

"Well, have you…?"

Brian interjected coldly, "No."

"Okay…what's the hold up?"

"I don't fucking know!" Brian walked back into his office and lay back down on the couch.

Cynthia followed him in.

Softly (looking at the wall in front of him, pointedly avoiding her gaze), Brian asked, "How long do you normally wait before…"

"Before giving it up?"

Brian fidgeted. "Yeah."

"Mmm…these days four dates."

"So….five's the lucky number…"

"For me, yeah, since I breached 30. But only because I date older men, and most seem to be looking for a wife. That puts a lot of pressure on me. I'm a career woman. I'm not even sure I want kids. And it's hard to break things off once I fuck a guy, these days anyway." Cynthia laughed bitterly. "It used to be that fucking a guy was the best way to break it off."

Brian stared blankly at the wall as he said, "Last night was our second date, well, unless you count the day after the first. We went to the fish market I like, got food, and then ate it by the water."

Cynthia actually gasped. "You had a picnic?"

Brian looked at her darkly. "I did not have a fucking picnic! Brian Kinney doesn't _do_ picnics!"

"Mmm-hmmm…Did you eat on the grass during the day?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, Brian, I hate to break it to you, but that was a picnic. Was there any heavy petting?"

"Some kissing might have been involved…"

"Well, then, that was a second date."

"So that's three…unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you count the time he came over after work…we ordered in and watched movies."

"The classic dinner and a movie date. So that's four. And you know what that means…"

Brian said nothing. He wouldn't even look at Cynthia.

"Next time, you gotta give it up."


	15. Hot Dogs and Marshmallows, Part 1

Brian decided that he must be out of his fucking mind. After an assload of brainstorming, Brian had come up with the bright idea of taking Justin "camping" on one of New York City's many islands (for their fifth date). Why, one might justifiably ask? Brian Kinney was certainly not the outdoorsy type. He didn't like to get dirty (unless by dirty one meant kinky), he didn't like animals or bugs, he couldn't stand a night away from his platform bed and 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, and he preferred haute cuisine to anything containing pigs' butts or gelatin. However, he'd kind of liked being on the rooftop with Justin looking at the stars and the city lights (not that he'd ever admit it), and he wanted them to be somewhere with no conceivable interruptions when he 'gave it up.'

Unfortunately, not being a New York City native, Brian hadn't realized that most of the islands (excepting Staten Island and Manhattan) were or had been home to insane asylums, jails, and hospitals for people with infectious diseases. Dumping grounds for the untouchables. Translation, none were exactly suitable for camping (unless one was starring in a horror flick). So…Brian decided that a fireplace, some (shudder) marshmallows and hot dogs (he might eat a marshmallow, but no fucking way was he going to eat pigs' butts on a stick; Justin could have all of those), a bearskin rug, and some ecstasy would do. He'd decided to include the latter for three reasons. One, sex with Justin the first time (if memory served) had been incredible (though if questioned, he would characterize it simply as 'not bad'), so on E, he expected the sex to be amazing. Two, he wanted to spend the entire night fucking Justin (and E would give him the energy to do so, but again, if asked, he'd deny needing anything to fuck all night). And three, Brian wasn't sure he wanted Justin to remember that Brian had been his first (he imagined that that had been one reason he was reticent to fuck Justin again). Brian was confident that E would keep Justin's mind very much in the present.

Brian had a fireplace in his office (he didn't have a bearskin rug there, but he had a soft white one he could bring from the loft). The office also seemed like the perfect location because it had an incredible view of the sky (and the skyline), and Brian had been having office fantasies about Justin all week (he imagined that Justin had been having them too, at least since his attempted seduction and maybe before). Plus, he could call Justin back to the office after everyone else went home on the pretext of needing to work late.

And that's just what Brian did. So come 8pm, Justin walked into Brian's office, in khakis and a crisp button-down shirt, to find a bearskin rug lying in front of a crackling fire and a table (rising to knee level so what was upon it could be reached from the rug) on which someone (a caterer who was convinced that Brian had lost his mind and with it all his taste) had set various condiments in silver bowls with tiny silver spoons, a large silver bowl filled to the brim with marshmallows, a silver tray containing hot dog buns, another containing uncooked hot dogs, yet another on which sat several bottles of water, and two silver skewers (with wooden handles) for toasting.

Brian, who had been standing by the window, turned when he heard the door close. Justin hadn't even seen him (the only light in the room was the orangey glow cast by the fire) until Brian emerged from the shadows wearing jeans (his top button unfastened) and a wife beater, no socks or shoes. Brian sat on the rug, extending his legs and leaning on one arm, and drawled, "Care to join me?"

Justin just gaped for a long moment. But then he replied a little shyly, "Sure" and moved to sit next to him.

"What is all this?"

"Date number five. Care to toast a wiener?"

Justin giggled. He resisted the urge to say, "I'd like to do something to a wiener..." Instead, he confessed, "Well, I am a bit peckish…"

Justin grabbed a hot dog, skewered it, and then thrust it into the fireplace just above the flames. He nearly jumped when he turned back toward Brian (and the table of condiments) to find Brian staring at him intently. Justin would have felt the heat from that gaze a mile away. A delicious shiver traveled down his spine and then spread throughout his body. Apparently, tonight was the night. At once, Justin felt exhilarated and terrified. Justin was reaching for the ketchup when Brian, his tongue firmly planted in his cheek and an amused expression in his eyes, drawled, "Your shirt must be chafing you."

Justin's eyes widened, and he grinned. Had Brian just made a Simpsons reference?

Brian continued, "Here let me take it off." And that he did. He worked the buttons slowly and traced his fingers along each inch of skin as it was exposed. Brian's fingers left goosebumps in their wake, but Justin was far from cold. Oddly, he grew warmer with each button Brian unfastened. When Brian slipped Justin's shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, caressing Justin's skin lightly as he did so, Justin's breathing grew shallow.

Thus began their game of chicken. Justin dribbled ketchup, mustard, relish on his hot dog (still on the skewer) and then drew his tongue along its length. Next, he sucked on the tip and then pushed it almost all the way into his mouth. Finally, he pulled it out and licked his lips before gobbling it up in two bites. Justin's eyes twinkled, and he grinned. He fucking loved the effect he was having on Brian. His breathing had grown slightly ragged, and his eyes had darkened with desire. But Brian gave as good as he got. He muttered, "Messy boy" and started licking, sucking, and kissing various parts of Justin on which he 'found' dabs and drips of ketchup, mustard, and relish: Justin's neck, right at the pulse point, his left nipple, his cheek, and his ear lobe. Justin closed his eyes and bit his lip to stifle a soft moan. Then he grabbed another hot dog and began round two.


	16. Hot Dogs and Marshmallows, Part 2

After round two, Justin was ready to admit defeat. Brian had just traced the tip of his tongue around Justin's right nipple and nibbled on its little peak, causing Justin's entire body to flush and his cock to strain so hard against the fabric of his pants that it ached and made him very uncomfortable. He adjusted himself and then swallowed hard, blinking slowly, languidly. Brian, it seemed, could read his mind (which was completely focused on the strip of skin and the small patch of pubic hair beneath it exposed by Brian's unfastened top button). He licked his lips. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to have Brian's cock in his mouth. But Brian wasn't ready to stop playing. So he smirked and asked, laughter bubbling up through his voice, "Don't you want a toasted marshmallow?"

Justin stammered, "Uh, sure."

Brian chuckled. Then he took the second skewer and slid a marshmallow on the end. He thrust it into the fireplace just above the flame, spinning it a few times, until it was slightly charred and melty. Then he pulled it out and thrust it toward Justin. Justin smiled and slid the marshmallow off. Then he broke it into two pieces and ate it, leaving his fingers gooey. Justin declared, his mouth still full, "Yummy." Brian laughed (Justin, eyes wide and mouth full of marshmallow, was fucking adorable), but Brian was turned on, too. He couldn't help imagining Justin's mouth filled with something else. Brian licked his lips and, just as Justin was about to start licking the melted marshmallow from his fingers, leaned in and took two of Justin's fingers into his mouth. Justin couldn't hold back a moan as Brian licked both fingers clean, drawing his tongue slowly over each before sucking on them gently. Brian then repeated the process with Justin's other hand. Brian could never remember marshmallow tasting that good. He muttered, "Yummy indeed." At this point, Justin was panting.

Brian decided that it was time to break out the E. He couldn't wait much longer. He need to be inside Justin, pounding his tight little ass, as soon as possible. Brian reached into his pocket, taking out a small envelope with two tablets inside. They were green with question marks etched into their surface. He popped one into his mouth and offered Justin the other. Justin's eyes widened. He asked nervously, "What is that?"

"Ecstasy." Then he thrust his hand closer and drawled, "You'll love it."

In a hushed tone, as though he were telling a ghost story, Justin said, "I heard that some people die from taking that just once…"

Brian huffed a laugh. "Your health teacher would be very proud."

Justin colored, but barreled on. "And isn't Ecstasy a gateway drug? Leading to much harder things like cocaine and heroin?"

Brian didn't answer Justin's questions. Instead, he said, "On E, sex is phenomenal, and you can fuck all night."

Justin flushed and swallowed hard. Did Brian just say he wanted to spend the entire night fucking him? God he wanted that too. More than anything in the world. So he smiled shyly and took the tablet from Brian's hand, tossing it into his mouth and swallowing it fast.

Brian smiled. "Good boy." Justin couldn't help but beam at Brian.

Brian smirked and said, "My pants and shirt are chafing me something fierce. Mind if I take them off?"

Justin laughed and shook his head. Brian stood and slid his shirt off. Justin panted a little and bit his lower lip as he watched Brian undress. Fuck, he was beautiful, with his bronze skin, tousled chestnut hair, and hazel eyes, which now appeared chocolate brown flecked with gold. Justin barely staved off the urge to grab Brian by the waist and cover his strong muscled chest with open-mouthed kisses and then lick, suck, and bite on his nipples. Fuck, Justin wanted so much to lick every inch of Brian's body. He swallowed hard as Brian began unzipping his jeans. Again Justin had the disturbing thought that Brian could read his mind. His eyes were so dark, and his face so tight as he regarded Justin. Brian relished in Justin's want, his desperate desire for him, but even more, he was trying to temper his own desperate desire. Trying and failing. What Justin thought was a predatory expression in Brian's eyes and on his face was something altogether different, the result of an internal struggle. Brian didn't want to want Justin this much. For a split second, he considered ending this, ending everything. Leaving this half-naked beautiful boy in his office and bolting. Going to the nearest gay club and tricking all night, until every breathtaking impression Justin's simple presence had burned into Brian's mind disappeared. Sending him back to Ryan the next day.

But that thought caused Brian's chest to tighten painfully. It was too late. Way too fucking late to escape. Whatever this was, Brian had to see it through until the end. He swallowed hard and pushed his jeans down over his hips. Justin, without even thinking, pulled them all the way down. He couldn't help but peek at Brian's ass. His underwear covered almost nothing in the back. Justin swallowed hard and then moved back to a sitting position. Brian stepped out of his jeans and then hooked his fingers into his underwear and pulled them all the way down, leaning over completely as he did so. When he stood up again, his fully erect cock bounced a little. Justin's breath caught in his throat (he was eye level with Brian's dick), and his eyes widened. Brian's dick was fucking huge. Justin was filled with a sudden, overwhelming need to suck on it, though he wasn't sure he'd even be able to get the whole thing into his mouth. He licked his lips and looked up at Brian. Brian was smiling at him, as though he could read every thought in Justin's head.

Justin blushed. But he was determined. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and then slid them and his tighty whiteys off. He moved to a kneeling position. A strange feeling washed over Justin then. He couldn't put a name to this feeling, but it brought tears to his eyes. Was it awe? Worship? Love? Justin didn't know. He blinked a few times. He didn't want Brian to see his tears, the vulnerability that made it suddenly so difficult to breathe.

Brian's eyes widened when he caught sight of Justin's cock, hard and leaking. It wasn't quite as big as his, but it was damn close. Brian was pleasantly surprised (he hadn't actually seen it their first night since they were in a dark alley). Justin slid his hands around Brian's waist (until they reached his ass) and then drew his tongue along the underside of Brian's cock.

Brian watched Justin's face intently. His lips were plump, cherry red…perfect. When Justin wrapped them around his dick and started drawing Brian's length into his mouth, Brian drew his breath in sharply. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything more beautiful than Justin in this moment. That impression, coupled with the lingering effects of the hour they'd spent teasing each other, had Brian wondering whether he would last for any substantial length of time. He was so close already. Justin lips were simultaneously soft and firm, and Justin took his entire cock inside his warm wet mouth on every downstroke, swirling his tongue along his shaft as he did so and swallowing around the tip of his cock every time it entered his throat. Delicious torture.

But when Justin cupped his balls in one hand, squeezing them gently, while also pushing a finger inside him with the other hand, Brian lost it. He roared, "Oh fuck!" and threaded his fingers into Justin's silky blond hair. He fisted it and took control, fucking Justin's mouth. Justin gladly let him. Brian's being suddenly so rough with him, pulling his hair and thrusting his dick into his mouth so hard and fast had Justin so turned on (well, more turned on) that he moaned loudly. The vibrations sent Brian over the edge. Soon he was exploding in Justin's mouth. Justin swallowed Brian's cum eagerly and then pulled back, licking his lips. Brian slid to his knees and pulled Justin into his arms, burying his face in Justin's neck. Justin smiled a million-watt smile, despite the continued aching of his chest. In that moment he understood. Everything. Justin was in awe of Brian…worshipped him (he was truly a God)…and Justin was falling head over heels in love with him. Fuck. He never imagined love would feel like this. He felt alive in a way that he never had in all his twenty years, every sense heightened, and terrified and trembly. Justin slid his arms around Brian (whose face was still buried in Justin's neck) and held him tight. Only when he was like this, in Brian's arms, holding him close, did the aching abate. He never wanted to let go.

TBC…(soon; I'm embarrassed to say that I laid down last night to get rid of a headache and fell fast asleep. I was sleeping until a couple hours ago. So I wanted to post the next part asap, even though their date isn't quite over.)


	17. Hot Dogs and Marshmallows, Part 3

When Brian caught his breath, he nuzzled Justin's neck and then brushed his lips against it, right at the pulse point. Those small, gentle touches sent wave upon wave of heat coursing through Justin's body (after an hour of teasing, Justin was so hard he was convinced a soft breeze could push him over the edge, causing him to cum buckets). Then Brian started laying open-mouthed kisses all over Justin's neck, up and down his ear, and across his cheek until Brian's lips met Justin's. Justin looked up at the man, eyes wide, startled and eager. Brian kissed Justin's lips several more times, just loving the feel of them on his. He drew the tip of his tongue along Justin's lower lip, bit it gently, and sucked it into his mouth. Then suddenly, his hands were buried in Justin's hair, his tongue buried in his mouth. He kissed Justin hard and deep. Hungrily. The taste of Justin, the softness of his lips when they came in contact with his, was intoxicating. He kissed Justin more and more deeply, as though he'd been drowning and were now gasping, taking in larger and larger gulps of air to stop the burning in his chest (and that's exactly the effect it had). Justin moaned and threaded his fingers into Brian's hair, kissing him as deeply, as desperately. All he could think was "Oh my fucking God!" and "More. God, please, more."

Brian slid his right hand down behind Justin, down to his ass, and pushed and pulled until Justin's body was pressed more tightly against his and half lying down. Then Brian pushed them both to the floor. Brian was now lying on top of Justin, kissing him as desperately as before (maybe more so). Justin didn't even realize that they'd switched positions, not until he felt soft fur against his skin. He moaned again and pulled Brian's face even closer, kissing him more deeply.

Before Justin knew what was happening, his legs were on Brian's shoulders, Brian's sheathed and lubed cock poised at his entrance. Brian broke their kiss then and stated huskily, "I want you so much, Justin."

Justin swallowed hard and replied, in a breathy whisper, "Fuck me, Brian. Please."

Brian closed his eyes for a moment (to shove the "Oh God" back into his lungs before it could escape his lips) and then started pushing his cock inside Justin. Then he buried his face in Justin's neck and groaned. Justin bit his lip and shut his eyes tight. It had been so long since he'd bottomed. The pain was almost as excruciating as the first time. But then Brian was licking and sucking on his neck. At the pulse point and then at the base (at the back). For a second, Justin wondered how Brian guessed that that was his weakness (the spot on his neck that gave him so much pleasure that it set him to trembling and almost hurt). But that thought was soon sucked out of his brain by Brian's firm lips and warm, wet tongue. Electricity started crackling through his veins, pain and pleasure dueling for dominance. Just when Justin thought the pain would win out, Brian paused, turning Justin's head, licking Justin's lips and then diving back in, thrusting his tongue into Justin's mouth, threading his fingers through Justin's hair, and kissing him so passionately that Justin felt like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. An overwhelming urgency flooded Justin's senses then. He needed, like he'd never needed anything before, Brian to be fully ensconced in his body, to fill him completely, to be as close to the man as possible. So he deepened their kiss as he pushed back against Brian, sending Brian's cock all the way inside him. Brian pulled back then and cried out, "Oh Fuck! Fuck!" Justin was so fucking tight. Impossibly tight. Brian wondered then if Justin had let anyone else fuck him since their tryst in the alley two years ago. But that thought was soon overshadowed by Brian's need to thrust, to slide his cock in and out of this deliciously vise-like space. He was so dizzy. He could barely even see. All he could do was feel. It was like he was floating on, surrounded by, completely enveloped in something so warm. So fucking warm.

He muttered, "Oh fuck…yes. Yes."

Then he breathed, "Justin" like it was a prayer.

Justin panted as he watched Brian. Brian's eyes were glazed over, and his face held an expression of bliss. Justin licked his lips and quickened the pace, pushing back harder against Brian's cock. He was entranced by Brian's responses. He couldn't, wouldn't, look away. Not for anything.

After a couple of minutes, Brian drew himself up to his knees and pushed Justin's legs higher up on his shoulders, spreading them wider. He needed to go deeper, to thrust faster. He grabbed Justin by the waist and started pounding into him. He licked his lips and threw back his head. He couldn't even speak now. Just moan and grunt.

Justin pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down, between them, watching Brian's cock slide in and out of him. His own cock was enjoying the sight, the sensations, so much that it was now purple and leaking copious quantities of precum. Justin thought he'd die if he didn't cum soon.

And then he did die. Brian slipped his hand firmly around Justin's dick, squeezed hard (drawing from Justin a loud, "Ohhhh!") and started stroking it. Three strokes and Justin bucked, arching his back as he cried out, "Oh Fuck! Brian…Brian." His vision exploded in a flash of white light, and he came hard, sending cum skyward like his cock was a fountain. Brian roared as Justin's ass clamped down on his cock and thrust just once more before cumming so hard he almost blacked out.

Then they were all sweat and heaving chests, holding onto each other for dear life.

**********

Brian and Justin literally spent the rest of the night fucking (Brian was never so glad that he had his own bathroom, with, at his insistence, a large shower, one large enough to fit several people). They fucked and sucked on the couch, behind, under, and on Brian's desk, in the shower (a couple of times), and even on Justin's drafting table, Brian sitting in the chair and Justin riding him, leaning back against the tilted surface and holding onto Brian's legs for leverage. Then after watching dawn break over the hundreds of tall buildings forming the skyline, they passed out on the bearskin rug, Justin firmly nestled in Brian's arms.


	18. The Real World

"This is new."

Brian groaned and opened his eyes. Standing right above him was Cynthia, arms crossed, a huge grin on her face. Brian sat up on his arms and sighed. Justin, who had been snuggled up on Brian's chest, rolled over onto his back, exposing his erect cock. Cynthia raked her eyes over Justin's naked form. Hungrily.

"Mmmm…He really _is_ hot! I mean, I knew he had a great ass, but man, he sure is packing! Just scrumptious."

Brian clenched his jaw and growled, "Get the fuck out."

Cynthia smiled and tilted her head. She snarked, "Jealous much?"

Brian said nothing. He just glared.

"Tell me…are you pissed because I was staring at your boyfriend's cock or because I _wasn't_ staring at yours?"

If Brian hadn't been so annoyed, he would have admitted that that was a fair question. But he was extraordinarily annoyed. Not only had Cynthia called Justin the b-word, but she had also forced Brian to examine his anger, which had led to the (disturbingly quick) realization that he just didn't want her, or anyone else, staring at his….well at Justin. Especially not when he was naked and hard.

Brian stood up, so fast that his erect cock bounced a little, and started ushering Cynthia out the door, none too gently. She laughed and protested, "Alright, alright. No need to push. I'm going." Then she stepped through the door. Brian slammed it.

Then he turned around. His expression immediately softened. Justin was rubbing his back against the bearskin rug, his hands over his head and his legs open, spread out wantonly. A droplet of precum was glistening on the head of his cock. Brian begrudgingly acknowledged that, though he never would have used that word, Justin's cock _did_ look scrumptious.

Brian moved closer and then kneeled and leaned over. He swiped his tongue over the head of Justin's cock, lapping up the aforementioned droplet, and then sucked on the head hard. Justin moaned and spread his legs wider. Soon Brian was sucking Justin's cock in earnest, drawing its entire length into his mouth, while Justin thrust upward, pushing the tip of his cock into Brian's throat on every downstroke, and moaned. Loudly.

When Brian felt Justin stiffen (because he was coming close to cumming), he pulled back. Justin whimpered, even squeezing his eyes closed more tightly and furrowing his brow. Brian chuckled. He quickly sheathed his cock and slicked it with lube. Then he pulled Justin's legs up around his waist and started pushing his cock inside Justin. Justin's eyes flew open then. A moment later, they fluttered half-closed again, and he moaned softly, "Brian."

In short order, both Brian and Justin were panting and grunting, Brian swiveling his hips and thrusting and Justin pushing back on Brian's cock and clawing the rug.

Suddenly, Brian and Justin heard a crackling, and Cynthia's voice came over the intercom. "Wrap it up! Mr. York is on his way down."

Brian cursed, and Justin froze. He stopped pushing back on Brian's cock, opened his eyes, and sat up on his arms. He expected Brian to stop fucking him and shove him in the bathroom or something. But Brian had no intention of pulling out until he had cum, so he yanked Justin's legs so that he was lying down again and pushed them up onto his shoulders, continuing to thrust, but more quickly.

Justin moaned, "Oh…fuck" and squeezed Brian's cock from the inside, even as he pushed back on it. Brian closed his eyes and threw back his head, cumming immediately, with a half-moan, half-growl. Justin bit his lower lip and exhaled a shuddery breath when he felt Brian's hand on his cock, thrusting upward into it and grunting. He'd been so close for so long. Then, staring into Brian's eyes, he cried, a little breathlessly, "Brian" and arched his back as his cock exploded.

Before Justin knew it, Brian had ditched the condom and stood and was now pulling Justin to his feet. He threw Justin's clothes at him and directed, his voice all growly urgency, "Into the bathroom…" Then he opened the office door and pushed the catering table out. He ordered, "Get rid of this," not even waiting for a reply before shutting the door again. Then he was in the bathroom with Justin, dressing in an extra suit he kept in the bathroom closet. Justin couldn't believe how quickly (and efficiently) Brian clothed himself. He didn't even look worried. A couple minutes later, walking perfection (Justin thought), Brian exited the bathroom and shut the door.

Justin dressed quickly and then sat back down on the toilet. He was so freaked out, though he was trying to remain calm. Brian tended to remain cool under any amount of pressure. Who else would have finished fucking the intern when his boss was on his way down? Brian could be fired if they were found together. Then Justin would be next (not that he'd want to stay if Brian weren't here). Justin should have been more worried about himself...after all, he needed to save money to pay for next year (his scholarship was only for the first), and though Justin was preparing to apply for other scholarships, there was no guarantee he'd get one. His internship and King & York, on the other hand, could guarantee that he'd be able to finish school. It paid so much more than his job waiting tables, which he had promptly quit after his first day here. He hadn't even given notice. He was tired of the owner's straying hands and sexual innuendos. He'd considered letting the much, much older man fuck him; the owner had implied that doing so would get him better shifts, but he just couldn't. Justin wasn't sure why, but he'd had no urge to bottom for anyone, not since his first time, well, not until Brian. In fact, as stupid as it sounded, or was, Justin had liked the idea that the mysterious man who'd taken his virginity, the man who, until very recently, had haunted his dreams, was the only one who'd ever fucked him. For Justin, that connected them in some special way.

Suddenly…Justin felt a little ashamed…or, rather, like he should feel ashamed. He hadn't thought about his mystery man since the night he'd met Brian, and, from jump, Justin had wanted Brian to fuck him. Why was Brian different from every other guy who'd patted, squeezed, or otherwise caressed his ass and propositioned him? Justin didn't know. The only thing he was certain of was that letting Brian fuck him, desperately wanting Brian to fuck him, meant that Justin was no longer waiting to encounter his mystery man. After a year and a half, he'd finally given up his crazy fantasy…one that had kept him awake some nights and invaded his dreams on others. Justin was a little sad. His mystery man had been an unknown but ever-present force in his life, the idea of him, of one day meeting him again, pushing Justin forward when he would have preferred to give up…when he was tired and frustrated and filled with rage or panic. If not for his muse, as Justin liked to think of his mystery man, he wouldn't have pushed himself the way he had in rehab or worked so hard to get into the Art Institute and then after. Justin had wanted so much to be worthy of him…for his mystery man to one day admire him. He hated himself a little for abandoning him so easily, but more, for not regretting it. Justin was most definitely in love with Brian; he'd felt it the night before, and so keenly his chest had ached painfully.

Justin took a deep breath. He wouldn't be sad. He wouldn't hate himself. Not even a little. As wonderful as the fantasy had been, as much as it had helped him in the past, reality trumped fantasy (as Daphne had tried to tell him a million times). He had finally, as Daphne had often urged him to do, rejoined the real world, and it was fucking amazing.

TBC…as soon as I can (I already started the next part, but work keeps interfering, and I didn't want to keep you all waiting any longer than I already had).


	19. Fallout

Brian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, pacing in front of his desk. He was trying to remain calm, and had managed to appear so in front of Cynthia and Justin, but Mr. York rarely came downstairs to speak with anyone, and he'd never come downstairs to speak with Brian. Something wasn't right. Brian tried to regret fucking the intern, Justin, in his office all night, after all, it could get them both fired, but he simply didn't. He couldn't. And not just because he refused to do regret. Fortunately, Cynthia saved Brian from exploring this line of thought any further. She buzzed. "Mr. York is here to see you."

Brian sat down, took a deep breath, hit the button, and replied evenly, "Send him in."

When Mr. York entered his office, Brian stood and approached him, offering his hand. "Mr. York. Would you like to sit down…a beverage?"

Mr. York, a short (he was nearly a foot shorter than Brian) bald man with friendly eyes (though they looked stern now) shook his head. "No. I won't stay long. I just need to discuss something with you."

Brian quirked an eyebrow.

He looked up, his face serious, even angry, but when his eyes lighted on Brian, when he really looked at him for the first time, his eyes widened. In a kind voice, he asked, "Have you been sleeping?

Brian stared at the man blankly. "What?"

"You look tired."

Brian swallowed hard. Should he 'confess' to having had a long night? Mr. York had probably done his share of partying as a young man. After all, he was born into money. Fortunately, Mr. York didn't expect an explanation. "I know Brown's had you jumping through hoops, but you really need to take care of yourself."

Brian chuckled, though he couldn't help but be a little resentful. Such things were easy for men like Mr. York to say. He probably slept eight hours a night every night, worrying about little except what new yacht to buy. Nothing in his world depended on the company's success. His daddy had financed it when he was just out of college, and he'd come into his full inheritance a couple years ago. That wasn't even counting his wife's money. From what Brian had heard, she was loaded. "I'm fine. A little lost sleep won't kill me."

Then Mr. York was serious again. He asked plainly, "What's going on with the new intern?"

"What?" Brian's entire body tensed up, though he tried to appear relaxed. Justin had been straining to hear their conversation, but the two men were talking so low that he hadn't heard a word, not until Mr. York had asked about him. Justin didn't need to see the expression on the man's face to know that he was pissed. Justin closed his eyes, praying that no one had seen or heard them last night.

"Ryan's been pitching a fit. He claims that you have the new intern working directly for you."

Brian laughed (and Justin relaxed a little, mostly because Brian had laughed. If Brian wasn't worried, there was probably nothing to worry about). Then Brian responded, a hint of disgust in his voice, "Ryan had him getting coffee. I didn't poach him from Johnson at ST&D to be a gopher. He's an amazing artist. He attends the Art Institute and was offered a show his first year."

"He's that good, huh?"

Justin flushed with pleasure and smiled at the compliment (Brian wasn't exactly free with those). But he smiled even more brightly when Brian replied, "Yes. He's our chance to gain a competitive advantage. He can make our ads edgier…more in line with the current aesthetic. I've seen that firsthand. He pitched in on the new boards for Brown Athletics. Without his help, we might have lost the account. But, of course, he won't do us any good if he's rotting down in the Art Department fetching and carrying." Justin felt like giggling or doing a happy dance. He wisely refrained from both.

Mr. York shook his head. "Brian, you make a good point, but Ryan's threatening to walk. He says he can't run the Art Department efficiently if the executives interfere. On this scale anyway."

"Good riddance. He should put a higher premium on ability than on age or experience."

Mr. York sighed and threw up his hands, looking seriously distressed. "Look, Ryan is my wife's cousin. I have to eat Thanksgiving dinner with him every year!"

Mr. York didn't elaborate, not right away. The bearskin rug had caught his eye. He observed coolly, "This is new."

Brian clenched his jaw. Fuck. He'd forgotten to hide that damning piece of evidence. Brian explained, as evenly as he could manage, "The Texas beef guy who's considering using us for his new ad campaign is coming into New York today. I thought the rug might make him more comfortable."

Justin paled, his eyes wide, his mouth open slightly. Mr. York nodded absently and bent down. "It's nice. Maybe I should get one for my office."

Then to Brian's horror, he ran his hand over it. He muttered, "Soft." At this point, Justin had his ear up to the door, so he heard Mr. York's observation. He buried his face in his hands. They were done.

Brian just watched, aghast, like he was witnessing a train wreck. One he was powerless to stop.

After a few seconds, Mr. York wrinkled his nose. "It's wet." Justin's heart had stopped beating, and he blushed a deep crimson. Mr. York had just shoved his hand in Justin's cum. He must have. Justin hid in the closet (he fully expected Mr. York to come storming in and pull him out by the ear).

Then to Brian's increasing horror, Mr. York patted the rug all over, getting Justin's cum all over his hand. He stood and rubbed a couple fingers together, examining them and looking thoughtful.

Brian just stared at him wide eyed. That was it. They were done. They'd both be fired. Justin would have to find another way to pay for school, and Brian would have zero chance of getting another job. No matter how Brian excelled at advertising, no one would touch him with a ten-foot pole if they learned that he was not only gay but also someone who fucked underlings, and in the office. Brian was already planning his next move (starting his own advertising company), mentally running through the list of their clients, trying to figure out who he'd have a chance at poaching, when Mr. York muttered, "The maintenance guy used too much soap when he cleaned this. You should give him a call. Leaving pools of soap on the rug could ruin it."

Brian actually gaped for a moment. And even more when Mr. York smelled his fingers.

"Well…at least the soap seems mild. No scent. Maybe it will be okay."

After a long pause, he wiped "the soap" onto his pants and added sternly, well as sternly as Mr. York got, "Make it right with Ryan or send the intern back to the Art Department."

He turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, he turned back and said, "Oh…and don't forget to call maintenance." Then he departed.

Brian stood there, in the middle of his office, for a couple of minutes, in a stunned silence. Then he burst out laughing.

Brian walked into the bathroom just as Justin was exiting the closet. Brian giggled. "What the fuck were you doing in the closet?"

Justin blushed in embarrassment. Then in a tiny voice, he admitted, "Hiding."

Brian pulled Justin into his arms and kissed his lips gently. Then he barked, "Now get the fuck out."

Justin froze, his eyes wide. Suddenly, his chest felt so hollow. Was Brian breaking up with him?

"I think we've pushed our luck as far as it will go."

Justin stepped out of Brian's arms and, in a daze, walked into his office proper. His throat was so dry. He swallowed hard and licked his lips. He tried to tell himself that if Brian wanted to end their…whatever it was, it was his loss. But he felt so desolate. Over and over, he told himself he wouldn't cry. Not until he was far, far away from here anyway.

Brian followed Justin out of the bathroom and watched him go. Just as Justin's hand touched the doorknob, Brian said, his voice suddenly, soft, so soft, "Call me later."

Justin's heart leapt, and his face broke out into a bright smile. He turned to look at Brian. He seemed…Justin couldn't even describe it, but he knew then that Brian had no intention of breaking up with him. Justin replied a little shyly, "Okay. Later."

In almost a whisper, Brian replied, "Later."

Justin walked to the elevator in a daze, not even seeing Cynthia, who was smiling at him. Once the elevator doors closed, Justin did a little happy dance. But he stopped abruptly when he heard the ding indicating that the elevator was stopping to pick someone up. He tried to look normal, but he couldn't wipe the silly grin off of his face. Not even when he noticed the raised eyebrows of the elevator's other occupants. He'd never been happier in his entire life.

Brian was standing at the window, looking over at the other buildings and then down at the street. He refused to acknowledge that he was watching for Justin, but when he caught sight of the boy, smiling brightly and skipping down the street toward the subway entrance, he smiled a little.


	20. Mikey's Birthday, Part 1

Cynthia walked into Brian's office and shut the door behind her. She was grinning. If Brian had seen that grin, he would have been worried. But he was so focused on work that he didn't hear her come in. He was re-reading his first draft of a proposal for the Texas beef guy. He was coming to New York (and thus to King & York) for a visit (as Brian had told Mr. York), but not until next week. The Texas beef guy was expecting Brian to pitch him an entire new campaign, one that would especially appeal to young people. Cynthia rubbed the edge of Brian's desk and drawled, "So…where you taking Justin tonight?"

Brian lifted his head. "How long have you been standing there?"

Cynthia shrugged.

"Next time, knock. For all you know, I could have been getting my dick sucked."

Cynthia didn't even blink. "One…now that Justin's on the scene…"

Brian waved his hand. "Don't…just don't. What's two?"

"Two…you are a narcissistic exhibitionist. My walking in on you would probably make whatever sex you were having better."

"Point taken."

"So…where you taking Justin tonight?"

Brian didn't respond. He just gave her one of his patented blank stares.

"Now that you and Justin are boyfriends…"

Brian dropped the document he'd been holding (onto the desk), leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. Then as petulant as a two-year-old, he interjected, "I never said we were boyfriends."

"Fucking Christ, Brian…how many times do I have to explain this to you? When you take a guy on dates and you're not fucking anyone else, that guy is your boyfriend…and now that he is…you have a standing date on Fridays."

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Cynthia bit back a smile. Brian had stopped arguing much more quickly this time. Apparently, his resistance to the boyfriend label was largely window dressing. Clearly Brian had accepted it on some deeper level. "Yup. It's in the handbook…All couples have a standing date on Fridays, sometimes Saturdays, too.

Brian wasn't arguing. Interesting. Cynthia took that as a sign to proffer suggestions, so she walked back to her desk, leaving Brian's office door open, and took out her book. As well as holding Brian's appointments, it contained complimentary tickets (e.g., to basketball games and the opera) and such.

Cynthia folded the book open and walked back into Brian's office. "Oh wait. This Saturday is Michael's birthday. You planned to spend the weekend in Pittsburgh."

Brian sighed. "Fuck, I forgot. I still have to get him something."

Cynthia laughed. "As if…I bought him something months ago."

"You did?"

"Yup…a first edition comic book."

Brian nodded his approval.

"So…should I get Justin a ticket?"

"For what?"

"An airplane ticket…to Pittsburgh."

"Why would you do that?"

Sometimes Brian was so dense Cynthia wanted to slap him. "Uh…so he can go with you."

Brian furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why would he want to go? He doesn't know Mikey."

"Seriously, Brian? Seriously?"

"What?"

"Do I have to explain everything to you?"

Another blank stare. Apparently, she did. "Okay…Justin is your boyfriend…"

Brian sighed and clenched his jaw.

Cynthia ignored him. "…Typically, when a person has a social function to attend, that person brings his or her boyfriend or girlfriend. Surely you've met your friends' significant others at such events…"

"Well…yeah."

"Okay…so now you understand why. People tend to want their significant others to meet their family and friends." Cynthia looked back at her book. "I'll book you a hotel room, too."

"What for?"

"Well, I know you were planning to stay at Deb's, but if you bring Justin, you'll need privacy. And a bigger bed. So the party is Saturday…should I make dinner reservations for you two tonight? I still have some connections in Pittsburgh. I can probably get you a nice table at a top-rated restaurant. How about Italian?"

Brian laughed. "You're just assuming that I'm taking him…"

"Well, you are, aren't you?"

Brian ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know…isn't it a bit soon for a weekend trip?"

Cynthia tilted her head side to side a few times. Then she nodded. "For most people, you know, serial daters, I'd say yes. But you don't date. So the simple fact that he's your boyfriend means something, makes him special."

Brian grimaced. Suddenly he felt nauseous.

Cynthia ignored the look and continued, "I doubt that you'll end up breaking up with him in a week only to date someone else."

Brian couldn't deny that. He'd never dated anyone else. And he wasn't even sure how he'd ended up…no…he wasn't even going to think it. "What if he doesn't want to go?"

"Trust me, he will. If he likes you, which he clearly does…"

"How do you know that?"

"You, _you_, are actually doubting that he likes you?"

"Of course not. I was just curious how you knew."

Cynthia scoffed, "The blinding smile he had on his face as he walked out of your office gave me a clue."

Brian looked down and smiled softly (which was not lost on Cynthia). Justin _had_ been smiling brightly when he left. In fact, he'd practically skipped down the street. That had Brian torn. Clearly Justin was a twink…way too young for him…but he was intelligent and talented (and not just at art)…hot…and the smiling and skipping, it _was_ kinda sweet.

Cynthia brought Brian out of his head when she continued, "Anyway, when a person likes someone, he or she wants to meet people who matter to that someone. To become part of that someone's life."

Another grimace. "That all seems a bit too…permanent."

"It's all part of getting to know one another. Plus, he's from Pittsburgh, too, right?"

"Yeah."

"He might want to visit his family and friends. Maybe even introduce you to them."

Brian shook his head. "I don't know about that. I think the only friend of his worth knowing might be Daphne, and she lives here in New York."

"Why would you say that?"

Brian cleared his throat. "Never mind." After a pause, he asked, "You really think he'll want to go with me?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Brian sighed. "Fine…get him a ticket and book the room." He closed his eyes and sighed again. "And get us reservations somewhere."

Cynthia beamed. "You got it, boss." She practically floated out of the room.

Once she was safely on the other side of the door, Brian buried his face in his hands. What had he gotten himself into?

TBC…later (I have some work to do, but I'm hoping to post the next part by 5 or 6am Eastern)


	21. Interlude: New York Brian

A couple of hours after Justin left, Mikey called. "I'm so psyched about this weekend! I think everyone on Liberty is though."

"Why?"

"Uh, cause Brian-Fucking Kinney's coming back to town. I bet you'll do a lot of cumming, too, with all the tricks you'll be fucking. You better not blow my party off! I'd never forgive you if you went to an orgy instead."

"I'll be at your party. Relax."

"So when are you flying in? Should I pick you up?"

Silence.

"Brian?"

"No…I'm…uh…renting a car."

A little forlornly, Mikey replied, "Oh ok."

"I'll call you later."

"Bye, Brian!"

Brian placed the phone back onto the receiver and sighed. Mikey didn't know "New York Brian," only "Pittsburgh Brian." Pittsburgh Brian had spent the bulk of his free time trawling baths, back rooms, and even chat rooms for tricks. He was always looking for an interesting and/or challenging conquest, something that would make a good story over coffee at the diner. Pittsburgh Brian lived for the awe in Mikey's eyes every time he outdid himself. Mikey was Brian's original fanboy.

New York Brian was a little different. In New York, there was no one locus of gay culture like in the Pitts, not one contained in a couple of city blocks anyway. And, of course, New York Brian didn't meet Mikey for breakfast every morning, regaling him with sexual anecdotes. In a sea too big even for Brian-Fucking-Kinney and without his most loyal devotee, New York Brian tricked only to sate his sexual appetite. Brian had always had a keen desire nature, but his vanity was even more powerful. That, more than anything else, had fueled his libido back in the Pitts. Add to that the stress of working at such a big firm, one with international clients and at least fifty people just like him, who'd been the best ad people in their hometowns, and you got a very tired Brian. The pressure the gang inadvertently placed on him to maintain his reputation as an advertising dynamo and the difficulty of actually being one, doing work that caused him to stand out at King & York, made tricking as frequently as Brian had done back in the Pitts impossible in New York.

Brian hated to admit it, but getting a boyfriend was smart career wise (most nights, he stayed at the office late, sometimes until 10 or 11pm). It would save him the hassle of showering, changing, and styling his hair…taking a cab to the East Village, and then searching for someone (or a couple someones) more than passable to fuck. All told, the endeavor took 4 hours and all for 30 minutes of fucking and getting sucked off. New York Brian, more than he cared to admit, preferred to spend that 4 hours sleeping. Friday and Saturday nights were a little better, but Brian invariably brought work home with him to do over the weekend and usually had sleep to catch up on. Brian rarely tricked at the office. He worked too hard to potentially lose everything for a quick fuck in the bathroom.

New York Brian hardly ever brought tricks home (or invited them over after chatting online). He'd done that a lot the first year…and he'd had a string of very bad luck. One trick had stolen a 3,000 dollar humidor on his way out (Brian had made the mistake of going to piss after dismissing the guy). One had ended up being on PCP and had freaked out, shattering the glass top of Brian's _Mies van der Rohe_ table and his bathroom mirror, breaking a couple of legs on one of his dining room chairs, trying to jump out the window, and then puking on his old bearskin rug. Yet another had decided that he wanted to top Brian. When Brian had told him to fuck off, the trick got violent. Brian managed to eject the guy, but not before getting punched. Brian had had to use some of his personal days to prevent his bosses and coworkers from seeing the black eye, and, in so doing, he'd missed out on an important account. Brian's closest competitor had gotten a hefty raise as a result.

The sex was almost never good enough to merit that. Brian was actually kind of looking forward to having someone he regularly fucked. He could put in a good 2 hours of fucking and sucking and still get 7 hours of sleep…and indulge in a morning fuck the next day. New York Brian was a far cry from what Pittsburgh Brian had been (in terms of sexual conquests), but the former made much, much better money, owned a bigger loft, wrangled higher profile clients, and, as a result of his highly competitive work environment, had won a shelf-full of Clios (not all gold, but still). Sometimes Brian wondered whether what he'd achieved in the past two years was worth the enormous effort required and the hole leaving his surrogate family, his friends, and his son behind had caused (making friends had never been easy for Brian and doing so was even harder in New York, especially with his work schedule), but returning to the Pitts, especially so soon after leaving, would have seemed like a step backward, like a failure to Brian, and Brian Kinney didn't fail.

Brian would never admit this, even under pain of torture, but Justin was the one bright spot in Brian's otherwise bleak existence. Yes, in New York, Brian had been achieving more than he ever could back home and Deb, Lindsay, and Mikey could never praise him enough, but…he was kind of lonely. In the Pitts, half the time, Brian had felt burdened by Sunday dinners, birthday parties, and the like. He'd never realized the value of the companionship the gang had provided him…not until he was completely free of 'obligations.' These days, he often wished Lindsay or Mikey would just show up and drag him somewhere boring. Yes, Brian acknowledged, Justin offered him a lot. Much more than steady sex with someone hot who wasn't a thief, drug addict, or thug. Justin was someone Brian could talk to…someone who made him laugh…someone who (despite the short time they'd known each other) cared about him. Someone who was a little in awe of him. Someone Brian could respect, despite his young age. And even someone Brian could relate to. They'd both suffered. They'd both survived and now they were both thriving.

Despite Brian's begrudging acknowledgement (to himself at least) that Justin's being Brian's boyfriend was a positive change, he wasn't sure he was ready for New York Brian and Pittsburgh Brian to collide. Brian may no longer be the stud of Liberty Avenue, but the gang, particularly Mikey, still regarded him as such. Being something less than he once was (at least in one aspect of his life) was bad enough. But for Mikey and Lindsay to see it…that was something else altogether.

Without warning, Brian's office door swung open. A grinning Cynthia entered. "Have you asked Justin about the weekend trip yet?"

In a rasp, Brian replied, "No."

"Should I get him on the phone?"

Suddenly Brian couldn't breathe. He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. "This was a stupid idea. Forget it. I'll go by myself."

Unexpectedly, Justin walked into Brian's office then, his smile bright, his eyes twinkling. "Go where?"

Brian tried to change the subject. "What brings you back?"

"Oh. I forgot my bag."

That was when Cynthia made an executive decision (she'd vowed that someone was gonna get their Prince Charming around here..if it couldn't be her, it would be Brian). She smiled at Justin and said, "Brian's going to Pittsburgh to celebrate his best friend's birthday." She ignored the icy glare Brian shot her and soldiered on. "He got you a plane ticket." She grinned at Brian (who was still glaring) and departed then, closing the door behind her.

Justin had been looking at Cynthia the whole time, so he missed the glaring. In fact, he turned his head to watch her leave. He was in such shock that he continued to stare for a few moments after she'd disappeared. Then he whipped his head back around, his eyes wide and his smile even brighter. "You want me to go with you?"

Fuck. "I'd understand if you can't…if you have school projects to work on…"

"No! No. I can go."

Double fuck.

"Great."

Cynthia was so fired.

A/N: I'm sorry I didn't get to the good part yet...work has been insane and I wanted to get something posted...I'll post another part (by late tonight/tomorrow morning) before moving onto Little Ray.


	22. Mikey's Birthday, Part 2

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Work's been crazy (and it's just getting crazier)…and some other stuff's been going on. I hope this part isn't too weird.

Justin was beyond psyched. So much so, in fact, that he was oblivious to Brian's discomfort. And Brian was uncomfortable. Justin floated back home to get ready, but … Brian …Brian felt as though one of those circus strongman dumbbells were pinning him to the ground. Try as he might to get some work done, any work done, for the rest of the afternoon, he was completely useless. He just sat at his desk, eyes directed toward the computer but seeing nothing. Finally, at 4pm, with just three words typed into the Word document he'd had open for hours, he gave up.

He took the company car to the loft. The driver waited downstairs for him (he went up to pack). By the time Justin arrived, ten minutes later, Brian had managed to put one pair of jeans into his suitcase.

Justin, ever the optimist, assumed Brian had just returned home and proceeded to pack for him. Brian had informed him of the basic itinerary, dinner at a fancy Italian place on Friday night, family party and then clubs on Saturday night, lunch at the diner on Sunday and then home again. So Justin packed accordingly. Brian's infamous fawn Armani suit for dinner at the Italian place, a black silk button down shirt and tight dark blue jeans for clubbing, and a light brown sleeveless T-shirt (it was supposed to be hot on Sunday) and tight light blue jeans for the diner.

Brian took some ambien.

Every time Justin's eyes met Brian's, Justin smiled. One of those breathtaking smiles that seem to light up the world. He was a little dizzy and constantly felt like laughing. And dancing. Like a mug of root beer, bubbles tickled their way to his surface. Justin decided that this must be what it's like if disco were always playing, everywhere you went. Disco is silly, but happy. The happiest music in the world. You can't help but want to dance, giggle, shake your head, and smile so broadly your face aches.

When Justin smiled like this, Brian was granted a momentary respite from the three-day long ball of discomfort rolling out in front of him.

The ball was, in Brian's imagination, formed from a multicolored yarn—Thanks so much Justin for dragging him to a "supercool" café that served fair trade coffee from Brazil, which was, Justin said, better than Starbucks, and homemade chocolate cookies Justin was addicted to—it was a "yarn café," wherein the proprietor knitted scarves and blankets all day (in between making and purveying coffee and cookies). One wall was covered in shelves of yarn. So Brian had yarn on the brain all the way to the airport. Brian decided that nothing in Justin's neighborhood was "supercool." Except Justin. And possibly Daphne.

Back to the yarn forming his three-day long ball of current and impending discomfort ... as mentioned above … it was multicolored…pink, lime green, and neon orange. It was so loud it gave Brian a headache. And reminded him of Emmett.

But … when Justin flashed Brian one of those breathtaking (and even heart stopping, though Brian would die before describing them as such) smiles, Brian smiled, too, though his were more muted. In fact, twice (once while waiting in line at the security checkpoint and once just before takeoff), Brian felt moved to kiss Justin, just a quick peck on the forehead.

Justin thought the airplane was quite roomy and the seats cushy. Brian found the material scratchy. He couldn't say how he could feel it through his silver grey suit.

Justin was thankful they'd gotten "good" coffee before coming to the airport. He'd simply carried it through security. No one had taken it away. Brian had, too, but he wasn't feeling particularly appreciative—he wasn't savoring his. In fact, to Justin's horror, he slammed the rest and ordered a scotch. And then another. He would have ordered a third if the plane hadn't been about to land.

That was Justin's first clue that something was bothering Brian. He didn't know what sort of (figurative) rock was lodged in Brian's shoe, but he approached the problem like he approached life in general. With vigor and optimism.

One might ask how this was possible post-bashing, post-death threats, post-pariahdom, post-putting-off-school-for-a-year-because-he-couldn't-afford-it. The answer was quite simple. Though it was now a two-parter.

Justin's mystery man

Brian

They made the world beautiful. And that, _that_, made everything possible.

So back to Justin's vigorous and optimistic approach to life's problems … once he and Brian had checked into the hotel, Justin stripped off all of Brian's clothes and then proceeded to blow him for an hour.

Seriously.

Brian actually bellowed when he finally came. Afterward, he half-muttered, half-whispered, "Fucking amazing."

That, of course, was music to Justin's ears. He smiled proudly. "Really?"

"My body's jelly."

"Perfect," Justin purred. Seriously. He suddenly felt warm all over (more so than he did the first two times he'd sucked Brian off, a reaction he'd only ever had to one other person, his mystery man). It wouldn't have surprised Justin if he'd started glowing. Literally.

"What?"

Justin sat down on the couch next Brian, who was sprawled, though he was technically sitting up, his head resting back on the edge of the couch and his legs open and fully extended. Justin folded his legs and leaned against Brian, his face in the crook of Brian's neck. When Justin spoke, the warm puffs of his breath tickled Brian (Brian even laughed a little at first—the impulse … or reaction was too strong to prevent it). "A friend at school bragged to me once that his boyfriend had given him an hour-long blow job the first time. He wouldn't shut up about it…So I thought…"

"You timed it?" Brian managed to raise an eyebrow (though he couldn't move any other part of his body).

Justin giggled. That caused another unpreventable laugh on Brian's part. Brian wondered when the fuck he'd gotten ticklish. "No. But I did count the number of times you came close to cumming. The number 5 is my lucky number, and today it was yours, too."

Justin wasn't sure if the blow job had done the trick … if the rock had disappeared completely or simply slid into a less irritating position, but Brian's eyes were twinkling. He took that as a good sign.

In fact, Justin had given Brian's ball of yarn a push, sending it rolling faster (at least for the moment). When Brian could move again, he dragged Justin into the shower and reciprocated (though he didn't tease Justin several times before the big finish). After that (well, and dressing), they were off to the Italian restaurant. During the meal, Brian didn't think about his impending doom (the collision of worlds), not even once. Not until dessert anyway, when a familiar face swam by (in the sea of patrons—it was the restaurant's busiest night) and stopped. But more on that later.

TBC…


	23. Mikey's Birthday, Part 3, Brian's what?

Before that familiar face swam into view, Justin and Brian were sharing a slice of tiramisu. Of course Brian wouldn't have phrased it that way. Justin knew that because he'd asked if Brian wanted to share something, and Brian had replied with an 'are you crazy' look and a shake of the head. "I'll just have coffee."

So Justin had ordered the tiramisu. But, to Justin's great delight, Brian had taken up one of the _two_ forks the waiter had brought and had already eaten a couple of bites. What had _not_ caused Justin great delight was the fact that the waiter seemed to know Brian, to know that he would end up wanting some of Justin's dessert. But Justin had felt that something was off with the waiter all evening. He was just a little too attentive. To Brian anyway. And, at one point, Justin thought the waiter had glanced at Brian suggestively. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe. The waiter had dropped Justin's napkin. Sure he could have squatted to get it, rather than bending all the way over so that his ass was practically in Brian's face. But that alone wasn't terrible. It was the waiter's looking back at Brian while still bending over. Maybe it was innocent. But that coupled with the extra fork had Justin thinking the waiter had serviced Brian before, in every sense of the word.

All this would have bothered Justin much more than it did if Brian hadn't been completely ignoring the waiter. In fact, perhaps the waiter wouldn't have tried so hard to get Brian's attention if it had been more forthcoming. And, of course, whatever the waiter's motivation…however the waiter knew…he had brought the extra fork…the fork allowing Justin to live out a fantasy, that is, sharing a dessert with someone he loved, someone he desired beyond all reason (Justin was almost absolutely certain he'd let Brian fuck him anywhere…in the street…in front of his mother…anywhere).

Once the waiter was gone, gone, gone (out of sight, out of mind), Justin asked, "So whose party are we going to?"

Brian finished swallowing his third teeny tiny bite of tiramisu and took a sip of his coffee. Then he replied, "Mikey's."

"Your best friend Mikey?"

"Yeah."

Justin thought back to their conversation a couple of weeks ago. "He's the one who likes comic books and idolizes you, right?"

Brian nodded. Then he put another spoonful of sugar in his coffee. It was bitterer than he remembered.

"So tell me more about him."

"What do you want to know?"

"Um, when and where did you meet him?"

"We were both 13. Outside his school."

Justin gestured with his hand that Brian should elaborate. Brian sighed. But it was all pretence. He wanted it to seem like a chore, but he loved telling this story. "I happened to be walking by his school after skipping at mine. A few older guys (they looked like seniors) were fucking with him. They'd taken his action figure…Superboy or Doctor Strange…can't remember. The guys were tossing it back and forth between them. Mikey kept jumping for it and saying, 'Come on. Give it back. That's a collector's item!' He was kinda short back then. Course, compared to me, most people are. Anyway…I walked up to the guy who'd just caught the action figure, grabbed it, and handed it to Mikey. The tallest of them, who was actually an inch or two shorter than me, yelled, 'What the fuck, man?' I stepped in front of him and said, "You wanna take me on?" Then I saw it…just a flicker…But it was there."

"What was?"

"He wanted me."

Justin's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Oh God! You didn't!"

Brian laughed. "I did." Brian's eyes were positively twinkling, and a smile crept across his lips. "The bell rang. Everyone else scurried away, but this guy, he just stood there glaring at me. When we were alone, I dragged him off to an empty doorway…one with a solid door, no windows, so no one could see us…then I pushed him up against it, face first. A minute later, I was balls deep, fucking him hard. He just kept grunting and begging me to fuck him harder."

"Oh my God! I can't believe you fucked the bully!"

"What?" Brian shrugged, but his eyes were…intense. "I got Mikey his doll back." Justin had seen (or heard) Brian defend himself to Cynthia, Mr. Ryan, and Mr. York. But not to him. And there was something different about it. In not only the intensity of his eyes…but also the timbre of his voice. Justin knew then that he was special to Brian. Brian really cared what Justin thought of him, at least in comparison to everyone at work.

Suddenly, Justin found it hard to breathe. He tried to change the subject (well, to move the conversation along). "So when did you see Mikey again?"

"Right after I finished. Apparently, he'd watched us go off together and followed."

Justin giggled. "How pervy!"

"Yeah, a little. Then when I was leaving he emerged from behind something…a dumpster maybe. He said, 'Hi! I'm Mikey, what's your name?' I just stared at him for a minute. Then I mumbled, 'Brian' and started walking away. He ran after me, talking a mile a minute. He told me how cool he thought it was that I gotten his action figure back and rambled on about the guy's superpowers and origin story. He rambled all the way to Liberty Avenue. I was about to shake him off when he mentioned that his mom worked at the Liberty Diner. He said, 'I can't wait to tell Ma how you saved me! A real live hero! Maybe even a superhero. With the power of seduction or something.' So we went in and had burgers. We started hanging out after that. He just kept following me around, and he was alright."

"This is someone you've been friends with a bit more than half your life."

"Yeah."

"And he's just alright?"

Brian stared at Justin blankly.

"That's all you have to say about him?"

"He's my best friend."

"That makes it even worse! You should have tons of things to say about your best friend."

"What am I supposed to say? How would you describe Daphne?"

"Daphne? She's awesome!"

Brian deadpanned, "Oh that's so much better. Really insightful commentary on her likes/dislikes…her character…I feel like I've known her my whole life."

Justin rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Let's see. Um…I've known her since kindergarten. I can't even remember how we became friends. I think she gave me half of her candy bar or something."

"Figures it would be food with you."

"Figures it would be your ego with you."

Brian raised an eyebrow.

"Mikey's first words to you were 'It was so cool how you," and ten minutes in, he was calling you a hero, maybe a superhero…in fact, from what you said, the hero stuff was probably what clinched it for you."

Brian inclined his head, as if to say, "Maybe."

Justin smiled triumphantly. "So…back to Daphne…we make each other laugh. We always have…first making fun of teachers and then jocks and cheerleaders, but even now. We bust up just reading the personals. And she'll go with me anywhere. The stranger, the better. And…(voice breaking a little) she's the only person who stayed friends with me after the bashing."

Brian suddenly had the urge to touch Justin. Of course, he was all the way across the table, so Brian settled for tugging on Justin's sleeve, but then slid a few fingers underneath and began caressing his wrist. Justin flushed and then smiled softly.

"She had a crush on me for a while…the summer before she started college."

Brian's eyes widened.

"Yeah..she wanted me to be her first, and, dumbass that I am, I agreed."

Brian nodded sagely. "You should never fuck your friends."

"I know that now! Where were you two years ago?"

The irony! If Gus hadn't been born the night they'd met…

"So what happened? I assume she got over it."

"Yeah, eventually. She said she thought we should try dating. She thought that maybe I was bi because I was able to get it up for her. When I explained that I'd been thinking about someone else, she looked so sad. She said she understood, and we tried to be friends like always. But it sucked. I felt bad so I spent a lot of extra time with her. I took her to all her favorite places and worked harder to make her laugh, but it was like, the happier I made her, the sadder she was, if that makes any sense."

"Actually, it does."

"I thought we'd ruined our friendship…Still, we moved to New York together, as planned, though I gave her an out before, just in case, you know, she thought it was a bad idea, under the circumstances. But she said no…that she was excited about us going together. So we went. Things were still a bit strained…especially the few times she'd walk into my room without knocking and catch me dressing or…uh…doing other stuff."

Brian chuckled. "She actually caught you jerking off?"

"Yeah. Twice. Talk about awkward!" Justin smiled. He was beet red. "But then came the solution to our problem…Dex."

"Is that a pharmaceutical?"

"No! A person. She met him the second week of classes in Foundations of Western Culture: Homer to Dante. She looked up from the book she was reading, Nightwood, and their eyes met. Dex said, 'The doctor's really funny, isn't he?' She asked, 'You've read it?' He nodded and said, "Twice.' That was it. Daphne knew she was in love."

Brian chuckled. "How long did it last?"

"Two months. But from the moment she came barreling into my bedroom, all excited to tell me about her suave, superintelligent new boyfriend, we were okay again."

That's when Brian looked up and saw, much to his chagrin, his best friend Mikey. Much to Mikey's chagrin, before Brian looked up, what he saw was…

Brian caressing some young blond's wrist.

A plate with a slice of tiramisu and two forks, both of them covered in crumbs and cocoa.

The young blond chatting away, and Brian actually listening. Not looking bored or checking out the waiters' asses. No. He was actually listening.

Mikey plastered a fake smile on his face and weaved through the crowd until he and the guy he was with made it over to Brian's table. "Brian! You're here!"

Brian clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly (Justin saw it), but did not move his hand away from Justin. He figured that doing that would draw more attention to it. Maybe Mikey hadn't noticed. Instead, he emptied his expression of everything and deadpanned, "What an astute observation."

Mikey laughed and pushed Brian's shoulder. Then he pulled him to a standing position (breaking the offensive caress) and into his arms, hugging him tight.

Brian wanted to keep Mikey's attention everywhere but on Justin, at least as long as possible. So he asked, "Who's this?"

Mikey looked back at his date and smiled softly. "This is Mark. He's a lawyer! He works with Mel."

Brian had to try very hard to keep the derision out of his expression. The guy was wearing an improperly tailored non-designer suit. He had a decent body (though through the large folds of fabric, Brian couldn't accurately gauge the firmness of his ass or the size of his cock), but he was bald. From the stubble on the back half of his head, Brian guessed that the guy had started shaving it as soon as his hairline had started to recede.

Mikey said, "Mark, this is Brian, my best friend."

Brian extended his hand. "Nice to meet you." He looked Mark right in the eyes and smirked when he felt Mark's grip tighten. Brian decided that Mark must really like Mikey, to be so threatened. Brian was about to introduce Justin. He looked back at the table, but Justin was no longer sitting. He was now standing next to Mikey. With a bright smile on his face, he said, "Hi! I've heard so much about you. I'm Justin, Brian's boyfriend."

Brian's _what_? Mikey looked at Brian, a smug expression on his face. He couldn't wait to see the twink's bright smile fade when Brian corrected him. Mikey waited and waited, but Brian didn't say a word. He just stood there with a blank expression on his face. He didn't even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. Mikey was forced to take the hand a still brightly smiling Justin had proffered (he'd been hoping the kid would run out of the restaurant crying after Brian set him straight). Mikey muttered, "Nice to meet you."

TBC…


	24. Mikey's Birthday, Part 4, Phone Calls

After Justin's declaration, Mark had dragged Mikey off. But an hour later, he had called Brian. He barely said hi before launching into the third degree. "So was that kid serious when he said he was your boyfriend?"

Brian sighed. "Yes."

"Brian-Fucking-Kinney has a boyfriend?"

"So it would seem."

"I thought you said relationships were bullshit."

"I did."

"So what's changed?"

What could Brian say? That he had been lonely in New York? That he liked having someone he could talk to, whose company he enjoyed? That he liked having someone in his daily life who cared about him? No. All three might be true, but they would make him seem pathetic. And Brian Kinney was not pathetic.

"Work."

"What?"

Brian clenched a fist. He hated to admit defeat, weakness, or lack of ability in anything, any aspect of life, but this explanation was the least humiliating and had the added benefit of being true. It wasn't the whole truth, but at least it wasn't a lie.

"Brian?"

What had Brian always said? It's not lying if they make you lie. Mikey's desperate need to see Brian as a manwhore who'd never settle down (because, otherwise, he'd be angry and hurt that Brian hadn't chosen him) certainly qualified. Still Brian had always held himself to a higher truth standard. Deep down, whatever he said, he thought that people who lied to make their lives more convenient were weak. He could tolerate weakness in others. Not himself. Not usually.

"Brian? Are you still there?"

Brian thought back to his conversation with Justin earlier. Justin and Daphne's relationship had suffered when Daphne's crush had been brought to bear on it. It would have been worse if Daphne were a selfish person. As it was, Justin and Daphne had almost ruined their friendship. And Mikey wasn't the type to sacrifice for another's happiness. Whatever he said about giving and giving and giving to Brian was bullshit. Mikey liked being Brian's wingman. It was, after all, the closest he would ever come to being involved in Brian's sex life. On some unconscious level, he knew that. And Mikey's being the only man Brian truly cared for gave Mikey a perverse pleasure. Perverse because it was totally unhealthy.

"Brian?"

"I'm here."

"What were you saying about work?"

Brian closed his eyes. "Work makes it impossible for me to trick the way I used to."

"No! You can do what us mere mortals could never even dream of doing."

Brian's chest felt hollow. He didn't know who would suffer more from the shattering of Brian-Fucking-Kinney, the legend. Brian had always liked being Mikey's hero. He'd needed to be Mikey's hero. Fuck it. Time to 'man up.' Even if he was no longer a sex god in Mikey's eyes, he'd still be an advertising dynamo. Right. Yeah. And conquering New York took a lot of hard work. Sacrifice. Mikey would understand. Right. Yeah. "I simply don't have the time. I work sixteen-hour days. Sometimes longer. If I'm going to make partner in an international firm, the best in the ad business, I need to make sacrifices. I'm not working for a two-bit operation anymore. My work is seen and honored by the entire world. Having a boyfriend is convenient." Brian almost added that having a boyfriend was temporary. But he couldn't bring himself to utter the words. Mikey would probably assume that anyway.

"Oh…wow, yeah. I never thought about what you had to do to be so successful. I have the coolest best friend."

Brian smiled softly. But for some reason his chest still ached.

While Brian had been on the phone with Mikey, Justin had been out in the hall on the phone with Daphne. He was grinning so hard it hurt a little. "So…I introduced myself to Brian's best friend as his boyfriend!"

"Oh my God! What happened? Please tell me he didn't correct you?!"

"No!"

"What?"

"No!"

"OH MY GOD!"

Justin actually giggled. "Yeah, I know! I totally expected him to deny it. You should have seen the look on his best friend's face. He looked horrified."

"So you were right, huh? You must be his first boyfriend."

"Yeah." Justin leaned his forehead against the wall. Suddenly he felt like the superhero Mikey considered Brian to be. Like he could leap tall buildings in a single bound or fly around the world in a matter of seconds (Superman was the only superhero Justin knew anything about. He thought comic books were kind of silly, but he'd seen the Superman movies as a kid).

"So what's the best friend like?"

Justin grimaced. He didn't like Mikey. He couldn't exactly say why. Mikey just creeped him out. Mikey seemed to feel the same way about Justin. When Justin had held out his hand for Mikey to shake, he'd looked at it like it was something filthy. Like Justin had been part of the Donner party and the hand he had extended been used to cook and eat human flesh.

"Justin?"

Justin had actually taken sick pleasure in informing Mikey that Brian was his boyfriend. He'd gathered from all that Brian had said about Mikey that he had a crush on Brian, even now, eighteen years after they'd met, when Mikey was dating other people, but seeing it was disturbing. What made it even worse was Brian's clear discomfort. For the first few minutes it was like Brian had forgotten he existed. But he wasn't one to allow someone, not even Brian, to make him feel insignificant, invisible.

"Justin?"

He hadn't hidden while still in Pittsburgh…not after being ostracized, not even after the death threats. Everyone had wanted him to simply disappear, and he'd refused. Granted, he still had some social anxiety problems, particularly in crowds, but he hadn't let that stop him from living. Then again, he hadn't been in it alone. Daphne always seemed to be there when he needed her. Singing him that goofy rendition of Feliz Navidad (Philippe la-di-dah).

He had eventually gone to New York with Daphne, but he didn't consider that a retreat. If the best art school had been in Pittsburgh, he would have stayed. Even if Daphne had left. He'd been determined to shoot as high as possible, despite his financial problems, despite his gimp hand. Course, part of his strength and motivation had been his crush on his mystery man. He deserved no less than the best. The best Justin could possibly be. And of course, Justin no longer harbored a secret hope that he'd one day see his mystery man again. It hadn't happened in two years…and then he'd met Brian. And Brian was even better than his mystery man. And he was very much in Justin's life, rather than just his head.

"Justin!"

"What, oh sorry…I was just thinking…"

"About?"

"How much I hate the best friend."

"Ah. Why?"

"I don't know…even though they're just friends, I feel like I have to compete with him…and he's kind of a jerk."

"Is he secretly in love with Brian?"

"There's nothing secret about it. Brian seems to know. I think he likes it, too. And fuck, if looks could kill, I'd be so dead. Mikey despises me."

"I feel kind of sad for him."

"What, why?"

"If he's been harboring feelings for Brian the whole time they've been friends…you and I both know how insane that is. And I thought _you_ were pathetic…"

"Gee, Daph, tell me how you really feel!"

"Seriously…fantasizing about a guy you knew for exactly one day for two years…that's pitiful…but this Mikey person…he's even sadder…didn't believe that was possible…"

"Alright, alright, I get it. I'm sad, pathetic, pitiful, et cetera, et cetera."

"Are you nervous about the party?"

Justin sighed and slumped down (sliding down the wall and plopping down on his ass). "Yeah…it was hard enough meeting Mikey. The restaurant was so crowded. But Brian…he was so sweet. He spent most of dinner stroking my wrist. He didn't even stop when Mikey showed up. Course…he didn't introduce me at all, let alone as his boyfriend, but he was probably just surprised."

"I still can't believe you introduced yourself, and as his boyfriend. I'm so proud of you. Nobody puts Baby in the corner!"

Justin giggled. Then he smiled softly and breathed, "Yeah…"

"So call me tomorrow and I'll sing for you…"

"It's okay."

"Seriously. I'll be home all day writing that stupid paper on Yeats's "When you are old." God, he was a passive aggressive fuck. And that ego…as if any woman would die alone and lonely because she wasn't interested in him. What a dick!"

Justin hated to admit it, but just knowing Daphne and her goofy song were but a phone call away made him much less anxious about the party. Not for the first time, he realized how lucky he was to have a best friend like Daphne.

TBC…


	25. Justin Likes Lasagna

Brian and Justin were at Mikey's party. It wasn't much of one, just family and close friends (Deb, Vic, Emmett, Ted, Linds, Mel, Gus, Brian, and Justin, though, of course, Justin wasn't a close friend). The boys would go to Babylon later for funner fun. Deb had tried. She loved Mikey. So she has asked Vic to make Mikey a three-tier superhero cake. The first tier depicted Captain Astro; the second, Antman; and the third, Green Lantern. Vic had grumbled until Deb had thrown one hand on her hip and started waving the two-foot long wooden spoon in her other. He pretend smiled and got to work after that. Vic knew one thing about his sister: the answer to the question would she really? was invariably you bet your ass she would, no matter what the question referred to. She'd also gotten Mikey a man-size cutout of Captain Astro. Mikey had blushed and yelled, "Ma!" when he saw, but, secretly, or not so secretly, he was pleased. Finally, she'd made her special seven-layer meat, vegetable, and double cheese lasagna, Mikey's favorite.

At the moment, the partygoers were in the kitchen at the table, eating the aforementioned delicacy. Emmett pushed his lasagna around with his fork (it was just … too much, which was kind of a surreal observation, for him anyway, the man in a skin-tight, red, sleeveless shirt that looked like it was painted on and pants that looked like fish nets just with fewer small holes). Then he looked up, smiled, and asked Justin, "So, Justin, where did you and Brian meet?"

Mikey scoffed, "As if you have to ask! A backroom in some club."

Justin sniffed. "Actually …." He adopted his haughtiest tone, one he'd often heard his mother use at the country club. "… We met at one of my art shows."

Lindsay, who had been trying to keep Gus's food on the tray of his high chair, no mean feat, looked up then. Her face was flushed and one strand of hair had fallen out of her pony tail and forward against her face. "You're an artist?"

Justin nodded.

For the first time, Lindsay looked at Justin. Really looked at him. She narrowed her eyes. He was young. He looked 17 or 18. He had long fingers and delicate hands, or they would be, if not for the calluses from holding chalk and pencils too many hours a day. In fact, he had charcoal on the tips of his fingers. Faint, but present, from smoothing edges. So he'd been sketching already today, while on a weekend trip. Clearly, he was dedicated. He must be talented to get a show so young. Just as she'd reached this conclusion, a piece of Gus's lasagna went splat against her face. It was motionless for a second and then went sliding down her neck.

"Ooo ma ma ma," Gus cooed.

Everyone burst out laughing. Deb tried to hide hers by yelling, "Quiet, you little assholes."

Mel, too, tried to hide her mirth. "Oh, ho, ho, sweetie. Here, let me." Mel wiped Lindsay's face with her napkin.

Lindsay looked over at her son. Brian's son. Who was now covered in sauce and cheese, his hair, face, hands, neck, and shirt, and then back at Justin.

Brian was still chuckling, but now he was looking at Justin, too. They were sharing a laugh. At her expense. She decided that she hated Justin. A little.

Justin, no longer annoyed at Mikey, smiled and repeated, "Yeah, so we met at one of my shows, but that's not where we first encountered each other."

Brian, who had a fork up to his mouth, forgot to place it in his mouth. He just held it there, a millimeter away, until a big dollop of sauce dripped onto his plate. The splashback sent a couple of droplets of sauce onto his neck.

Brian muttered, "Fuck!" and dropped his fork back onto his plate with a clank.

Did Justin realize that it had been Brian with him in that alley?

Justin turned to watch Brian wipe his neck with his napkin. Brian frowned at him; Justin smiled brightly. But then, Justin turned back to the gang and said, "I first saw Brian on the subway."

Brian raised an eyebrow.

Justin looked over at Brian and smiled a little shyly. Then he turned back to the gang and said, "Brian looked amazing. Even sitting down, I could tell he had an incredible body ... I could just imagine his perfectly muscled chest and arms … strong but lean, like a Greek god. I knew he'd end up being my muse, with his muscled chest and strong arms and his long, elegant neck, high cheekbones, and flawless bronze skin. And his lips, the perfect shape. I wanted so much for him to kiss me. Oh and his eyes … one minute they looked green and the next they looked brown, flecked with gold. "

Mikey furrowed his brow. "Brian didn't yell at you to stop gaping?"

Justin shook his head and laughed. "He was too consumed by his coffee and his issue of GQ."

Son of a bitch.

Cynthia had responded to the twink's ad. She was toast. Seriously.

Although … Brian must admit, he liked knowing that Justin's first reaction to him, his first comment, was that his was the face of God.

Justin sighed. He was grinning and flushed from remembering his first glimpse of Brian and the subsequent desperate desire. "He was wearing his fawn Armani suit."

Deb laughed. "Guess you are queer. What a straight guy calls tan or beige, a gay man calls fawn."

Justin would have said more, but Brian stabbed a huge piece of lasagna (with his fork) and stuffed it in Justin's mouth. "Mphf."

The last thing Brian needed was for the gang to learn that they'd met through the personals on Craigslist.

Disaster was successfully averted. Well, one disaster. The other, lesser, disaster was that Justin only remained quiet while he was being fed. Justin was not only embarrassed (and you could see it in his cheeks, which were bright red, well redder) but also awed; the wonder was revealed in his wide eyes and shy smile, which resurfaced in between bites.  
The gang (all but Gus, who saw nothing wrong with someone else being fed) looked on in horror. None had the power of speech.

Oddly, Brian, in spite of Justin's wonder/embarrassment and the gang's horror, managed to keep his face expressionless. He was a calm blue ocean. That was perhaps most astonishing/terrifying.

Afterward, conversation actually seemed to veer away from Brian and Justin. In fact, it seemed to be the only topic on which the gang did not wish to converse. Brian, however, was not safe. Not by a long shot. Mel spat out, "So asshole over there!"

Lindsay chastised, "Mel! Language!"

"So the A-S-S-H-O-L-E over there missed Gus's first step. Of course."

Brian shrugged. "I saw the video."

Lindsay frowned. "How can you be so cavalier about it? Your son's life, and all his milestones, is passing so quickly!"  
Brian said, with a calm Lindsay found infuriating, "You made the video for me."

An even more exasperated Lindsay replied, "Well, yeah. But… you should move home. Don't you want to be a part of Gus's life?"

"He's your son, yours and Mel's."

"Brian!"

"That's what the papers you asked me to sign say."

"Well, yeah, but…."

"But what? You want me around until I start talking like he's mine, until I want a say in what happens? Fuck that. I spend time with him when I visit. I watch all the videos. I even talk to him when you call. That's more than most sperm donors do."

Mel droned, "Typical male response." She parroted him, "That's more than most do!" Then she snapped, "I defended a woman recently whose husband rationalized abusing her by saying he could be cheating."

"Mel!"

"What?"

"That's completely unfair."

Mel sighed. "Why do you always defend him?"

To everyone's surprise, Justin said suddenly, softly, "Every kid wants to know their dad."

Mel hissed, "What? Are you saying I'm not enough of a second parent?"

Justin replied, "No."

An expectant silence followed, but Justin simply opened his mouth, waiting for Brian to feed him another piece of his lasagna (he'd finished his own).

Brian laughed then. Long and loud. He smiled after that, too, got everyone else smiling (not Mel), but it was a muted smile. What Justin said hit him in a place he didn't know he had.

TBC...(soon. I have the next part written. Just have to type it and post it, though I have to work, too, so that might delay me)


	26. Another Revelation and a Flashforward

Justin was drinking. A lot. For him anyway. He almost never drank. But he felt left out and out of place. Everyone was in the living room, sitting and drinking, the precursor to cake and presents. Brian had ruffled Justin's hair and then went to sit next to Mikey on the couch. Justin was the only one not sitting. He was standing (near the table with the booze). And…Mikey and Brian were talking about birthdays past. The year they snuck into Babylon for the first time. The year they drove cross-country to California to attend a Comic con because it fell exactly on Mikey's birthday. The year Brian dressed "the twins" up in tights and capes and gifted them to Mikey (apparently, they were a pair of gorgeous hustlers, tall, built, brunets). That was ostensibly the one and only threesome Mikey'd ever had. And boy was he grateful (albeit slightly embarrassed by the revelation). Then Emmett and Ted got on the trolley careening down memory lane. The sweet, shy looks Mikey had been shooting Brian and the resultant soft smiles on Brian's face were replaced (Justin thanked all that was good in this world for that) with uproarious laughter. Justin was relieved. At first. Then came all the tricking stories.

Mikey giggled. "Do you remember the time Brian had a waiter under the table at Antonio's sucking him off?"

Emmett nodded. "We almost starved!"

Ted sighed heavily. "He overturned the best Cab I ever tasted getting a little too…"

"Frisky?"

"Enthusiastic."

Brian drawled, "That was the best meal I ever had."

Mikey elbowed Brian in the ribs. "Don't you mean the best meal _he_ ever had?"

Brian shrugged. Then he smiled, slow and lazy. Ouch. Justin closed his eyes and drained his rum and diet coke. He immediately poured himself another.

Mikey giggled, nearly falling over he was laughing so hard. "Oh, oh…and do you remember the weekend the Milan's Men's Choir came to Pittsburgh while on their year-long American tour?"

Emmett piped up, "They had a lot to praise Jesus for that Sunday…"

Ted's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Why don't I know about this? Where was I?"

Brian shrugged.

"So…you fucked all of them?"

Mikey giggled. "What do you think?"

Ted shook his head in wonder. "Wow…an entire men's choir…" He sighed. Brian was always the one scoring. He glanced at Justin and frowned. Brian had a perfectly hot…whatever Justin was…

But then, he returned his gaze to Brian and smiled. "So have any men's choirs come to New York City lately?"

Mikey smiled, too, and nudged Brian. Even Emmett got in on the teasing. "Do tell, Brian."

Before Brian had a chance to say word one, Justin erupted, "I'm all Brian needs."

Brian groaned inwardly. Bringing Justin here had been a huge risk, one he probably shouldn't have taken. Brian moved quickly (to put out fire number two), crossing the room in two steps, taking Justin's hand (and removing the now empty rum and coke), pulling Justin close, and lifting Justin's chin with a finger. Then he placed a gentle kiss on Justin's lips. That's all it took. Justin's mind went blank. Brian could tell because his eyes glazed over, and a flush began creeping across Justin's cheeks.

Brian spun Justin around so that he was facing away from Brian, leaning back against the man, and slid an arm around Justin's waist. A hint of a smile crept across Brian's lips. Now all Brian had to do was keep Justin busy until someone changed the subject. Just like before. Brian leaned in and kissed Justin's neck.

Justin moaned softly, "Mmm."

"So yeah, Brian hasn't tricked since we started dating."

Fuck. He should have used tongue.

But Brian managed to get Justin back. For the first two and subsequent 'infractions.' Yes, yes, he did.

Justin convinced Brian to take the AirTrain and then the subway (home). Brian still couldn't figure out how. So they were on the 1. Uncharacteristically busy for a Sunday evening, the people just kept coming. At every stop, ten more people got on. Brian and Justin were originally sitting down. But as people started piling in, in front of Justin, he stood and swiveled around so that he was standing in the aisle but by one of the doors holding onto the handle. Brian grumbled but stood, too. Sideways, in front of Justin. That was alright, until the next stop. Then ten people trooped in (no one got off), so Justin swung around so that he was right next to the door (in the gap between the seats), holding onto the same handle. He'd pushed Brian aside to do it.

Brian took up position behind him. He needed to nip this panic attack in the bud. It's not that Brian was worried about Justin. He certainly wasn't afraid for him. Brian Kinney didn't do that. Mothers did that. He was nobody's mother. He was barely Gus' father. No. He just didn't want to move at every stop, and he didn't want to experience the embarrassment of Justin's passing out or starting to scream.

Brian leaned closer to Justin, brushed his lips against Justin's ear, and whispered, "Shut your eyes." Then Brian slid his hand from the pole to Justin's waist. Brian pushed Justin's shirt up in the back and traced his fingers along Justin's bare skin, from his hip to the middle of his back. Then he slid his hand lower, massaging Justin lightly with one hand until it reached Justin's crack. Brian was suddenly very fond of Justin's atrocious cargo pants.

At this point, Justin's breath was coming in short little puffs. Brian couldn't be sure whether Justin was actually breathing in. He didn't think so.

When Brian let his hand wander further down, playing at Justin's entrance with two fingers, just brushing over it lightly, Justin breathed, "Oh, fuck."

And when Brian slid his hand to the front of Justin's cargo pants, and grabbed Justin's now fully erect cock firmly, Justin moaned.

Brian whispered, his lips still poised against Justin's ear, "I'm going to jerk you off right here."

"Wait."

"Don't worry. No one's paying any attention to us. It's too crowded."

"Oh. Mmm." Brian had started to squeeze even harder.

"Don't cum."

Justin laughed. "You really didn't have to say that."

Brian shrugged. "If you say so."

Then he started stroking Justin's dick while also tracing the tip of his tongue along the curve of his ear.

Justin whispered, "Fuck. Fuck."

Still stroking steadily, Brian exhaled against Justin's ear (causing Justin to shiver) and then turned to Justin's neck, tracing its contours with the tip of his tongue and then sucking hard at the pulse point.

"Oh … God …"

After the first few stops, people started getting off the train. More and more with each subsequent stop. Meanwhile, fewer were getting on. But Justin still had his eyes shut tight. And with Brian's hand on his dick, Brian's erection pressing against his ass, and Brian's mouth on his neck, Justin was lost. The car could have been full (as it had before Brian'd started his 'ministrations') and Justin would have heard only the sound of his own ragged breathing, that and the rushing of his blood south, like the roaring of the ocean in a conch shell.

Brian swiped his thumb over the head of Justin's cock and then started stroking Justin's cock once more. Every two or three strokes, Brian stopped to squeeze Justin's shaft. Hard. So hard. Justin was so hard and so close. The rushing in his ears seemed to grow louder. Louder and louder. He needed to cum so badly. It took all Justin's willpower to push back his orgasm. In fact, he was so focused on this one not-so-simple task that he no longer managed to keep his voice low, to keep most of his moaning in. He muttered, "Fuck, oh fuck, Brian. Yes. Yes," "Oh, mmm … ohhh, and then a sound unrepresentable by the English alphabet. After about twelve stops of this torture, it was time to get off (but not in the way Justin wanted. No. His balls were swollen and had started to ache). Justin was not aware that they'd reached their stop, only that Brian's perfectly shaped lips and warm wet tongue and the hand that had been squeezing and stroking, cruelly taunting, were suddenly gone.

Justin whimpered mournfully.

Brian laughed. He'd pulled away from Justin completely, but now, he was back, well his mouth was, sending warm puffs of air trilling against Justin's ear. "We've arrived."

Justin replied, "Huhn," an exclamation/question barely uttered and made even less understandable by the shiver Brian's warm breath caused.

Brian explained, "We're here."

Then Brian and his mouth were gone.

Justin shivered once more. "Oh." Justin opened his eyes and turned around slowly, preparing to thread his way through the crowd of people on the train, only to discover that there were just two other people in their car. Two old ladies. They stared, wide eyed and frowning, at Justin's prominent erection.

"Disgusting!"

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Justin turned beet red and ran (literally) off the train. He slowed down once he reached the platform, but did not stop.

Brian stepped off the train and … despite the slight nauseous feeling it caused … called after Justin, though in as playful a tone as possible, "Where ya going?"

Justin didn't stop or look back. "Home to jerk off."

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth for a moment. Then he sighed and started walking in the direction Justin was headed. God, he was pathetic. He was actually chasing after someone (not running, but walking quickly). It was little comfort that his legs were longer and therefore catching up to Justin didn't require too much speed or time. Ten seconds and a few strides later, Brian grabbed the hood of Justin's sweatshirt. Then he breathed, "I don't fucking think so." Brian pulled Justin back (by his hood) and then grabbed Justin's sleeve and spun him around.

"What are you doing?"

"Finishing what I started."

A/N: I'll finish the flashforward soon and then return to the present. I have to do a little work.


	27. The Rush

Brian dragged Justin (by the wrist) down the platform, away from the bulk of the staircases, past a dead rat, which was lying on its back, its legs stiff and extended, its mouth open slightly, and floating in a puddle of water. Justin shuddered. But Brian, well, conditions he would never abide at home or work thrilled him in such circumstances as this. He liked fucking against a backdrop of filth. Brian continued to drag Justin down the platform until they reached the farthest of the stairwells (immediately) adjacent to the tracks.

Justin balked at the three strands of yellow tape cordoning the stairwell off. He was still annoyed. And a little disgusted. The stairwell walls were made of tiny white and blue tiles, but you could barely tell because they were covered in a thin layer of grime, and it was dark. The smell of piss and … Justin didn't know … some pungent odor (body odor? no … worse) wafted up, nearly choking him it was so overwhelming. He stopped. No matter how hard Brian pulled, Justin wouldn't move. He just stared at Brian. Brian wasn't smiling, but his eyes were bright, and the corners of his mouth almost imperceptibly curved up. Brian was enjoying "this" whatever it was. Justin nearly laughed he was so surprised. Brian released Justin's wrist and continued forward, breaking one strand of tape and stepping over the other two. Then he spun around and crooked a finger at Justin.

"What are we doing here, Brian?"

Brian didn't answer Justin's question. Instead, he simply tilted his head. His eyes sparkled. Big and so green.

Justin was mesmerized. A moment later, he was next to Brian, looking up at the other side of the stairwell. It was closed off with a tall slab of chipboard.

Brian pushed Justin up against the right wall, the one closest to the tracks. The moment Justin's back hit the tile, Brian grabbed Justin's neck with both hands. The wind started picking up, whipping the trash in between the tracks up into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin caught sight of a whopper box soaring into the inky blackness of the tunnel.

Through the roar, Justin couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard Brian growl, "You don't get to walk away."

Brian's eyes were momentarily intense.

Then they changed. Brian spun Justin around and breathed, "Drop your pants."

Not exactly poetry, but still … Brian's voice was husky and low, so low. And Justin thought he detected a slight tremor.

Justin exhaled, "Ah …" He froze and shut his eyes tight. A web of thin, silky shivers slid down his body. Every inch. Tickling his cock to life.

Brian reached his hands around Justin. He placed them lightly on Justin's waist, pressing gently and sliding them down almost, almost, to Justin's groin, eliciting a frustrated whine from Justin, before lifting them once more, all the way to Justin's chest. Brian leaned closer. Justin exhaled again. He was dizzy. Brian's breath ghosted across Justin's earlobe. Justin tried to exhale, but it came out as a choke, and he started panting. Brian unzipped Justin's hoody and removed it. Just a flick of his fingers and it hit the ground. He was less gentle with Justin's shirt, nearly ripping it as he yanked it up and then off, tossing it to the ground. He ran his fingers down and then up Justin's back, slowly but hard, digging his nails into Justin's skin. Justin opened his mouth, but he was incapable of sound. He thought, "Yes, yes, fuck yes, hurt me." He shut his eyes tighter. Punctations, pink and green, rose up and then exploded at the edge of his vision. Brian moved to a crouch, slowly, still digging his nails into Justin's skin, but now licking, sucking, and biting, too.

Justin pressed his forehead against the wall. For a moment, Justin was aware of the tile; it was sticky and cold, but the stickiness, the cold, everything except Brian, pain, warmth, and wetness receded from his consciousness. Everything but the pinch and graze of nails and Brian's tongue, which was now snaking between Justin's ass cheeks.

Justin swallowed hard.

Brian started tracing his tongue around Justin's entrance. Lightly. His caresses excruciatingly light. Justin placed his hands on the wall next to his head, which was still resting against the tile. He pushed back and shifted left and then right. A few times. He wanted, no needed, more, much more. More sensation. More wetness. Penetration. But it didn't matter how Justin moved, or groaned. Brian teased Justin twitchy, prickly, tingly. So when Brian swiped his tongue across and then (!) swirled it around Justin's entrance, Justin shouted, "Oh! Ohhhhhhh!"

Everything happened so quickly after that. Brian pushed his tongue inside, eliciting a deep body moan and a cry, "OHHHH… fuck, fuck me! Please!" Justin was so dizzy and warm all over. Floating. Being pulled. He pushed back against Brian as Brian moved his tongue in and out. His dick ached.

In a flash there was cold, emptiness, and then the warmth and weight of Brian's body against Justin's. Pushing Justin against the wall. A whirlwind. Licking, sucking, and biting. So much biting. Then Brian's sheathed and lubed cock, hard, so hard, pushing against Justin's entrance and then inside.

Justin rolled his head back, resting it on Brian's shoulder. He needed more. He needed Brian to … he didn't even know. Hurt him? Certainly. Mark him? Draw blood?

Brian grabbed Justin's hips, held them steady, and, with a low grunt, buried himself to the hilt in a single thrust.

Justin's eyes flew open. He cried, "OHHHHH!" and actually pushed back against Brian, doing the impossible, driving Brian's cock deeper inside him. That set Brian on fire. Brian growled and started fucking Justin hard. Harder and harder.

A cough and the solid clank of metal on metal, of a flashlight against a holstered gun. "You aren't supposed to be here."

TBC...


	28. The Ache

A cough and the solid clank of metal on metal, of a flashlight against a holstered gun. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"You aren't supposed to be here." This time a shove and a hiss. _Mikey_. But that hadn't happened yet.

Not until an hour after Justin's "juiciest" revelation about him and Brian: "So yeah, Brian hasn't tricked since we started dating."

Justin expected Brian to deny it. He still didn't know much about the man, but he was observant.

Brian was a predator. Justin could have guessed that just from his first glimpse of Brian on the train. Brian was god-like. No, _not_ like. Brian _**was**_ a God. And Gods might walk amongst mortals, but those mortals' lives and souls … they were Gods' playthings.

The intuitive leap Justin had made at first glance was confirmed the moment they met. The intensity of Brian's eyes … his easy drawl … the confidence flowing with the fluid movement of his body … his feline grace. Yes, Brian was a predator. Justin was almost embarrassed at his body's response to the simplest of things: a word, a touch, a look. Almost.

Whatever Justin had said or done, he wasn't blind. For example, when Cynthia had come to inform Brian that Brown Athletics wanted to go "in a different direction" … and had described what Brian and Justin were doing as a "date" … Brian had actually winced. Twice. And Justin had observed with increasing unease Brian's drinking on the plane here.

Yes, Justin expected Brian to deny it.

But he didn't.

Justin could have laughed.

The room was suddenly a tomb. No voices. No movement. No breathing.

The seconds trudged by. And still Brian said nothing.

One. Mikey underwent a grotesque petrifaction. Justin looked on in horror as Mikey's face twisted and froze. A grimaugh. It was a slaughter.

Two. Emmett tried to cough. It curdled. Crawled back down his throat.

Three. Ted itched his nose. He bumped, prodded, and squeezed. Nothing worked.

Four. Mikey's left eye. A shiver.

Five. Mel's mouth, ever a drawn bow, slackened.

Six. Debbie's wig slid down on a slick of sweat.

Seven. Lindsay jumped. She spouted, "I'm awake. I'm awake!" Her eyes darted. From Gus (happily playing with blocks on the floor) to Mel to Deb to Mikey to Ted to Emmett and finally to Brian. Justin held back a giggle. She looked like that shifty-eyed cat clock. Except for the wagging tail.

Breathless, Lindsay asked, "What happened?"

Her question forced comprehension. One needs to fully absorb something before telling it.

Brian bristled. Sighed. Again?

Oddly, it was Mel who spoke. "Brian's in a monogamous relationship." Smiling mouth. Glittering, but angry eyes. It's a trap!

Lindsay nodded a glance at Justin and Brian. Brian's arms were still around Justin. Justin's smile purred. And rubbed up against the furniture. But secrets? He was all out. Of the good kind, anyway.

Lindsay's eyes were lasers. Moving up, down, and sideways. Scanning Brian. His posture, his muscles (were they tight), his "lazy" smile, his eyes … Was Mel's assertion true? If so, how did Brian feel about it?

Various read outs appeared … one directly in front of her (overlaying Brian's face) … one up above his head … one down below his chin… … one to the right of his arms… one to the left of his feet …

**Straight ahead**

Face—so handsome. Sigh-smile. (Not lost on Mel).

Strong Jaw

Symmetrical features.

Perfect specimen for breeding.

**Tight muscles!**

Eyes—Swimmable.

Current status: Brown dusted with gold.

**Sparkling …**

**Pupils dilated!**

**Up**

Three hairs whispered down.

Forehead. Broad.

**Slightly fluted! **

**Three beads of sweat at the temples!**

Artificial bed head. Source: LA Looks Gel.

Crunchy (98% probability).

Sticky (5% probability).

Red (18%) and gold (23%) highlights = (100%) boyish charm

**Down**

Lips.

Strong. Firm.

**Curved up slightly …**

Chin

Not dimpled. Still … well formed.

**Slight sheen … sweat? (62% probability)**

**Right**

Arms. Stronger than they looked. **Current status: wrapped TIGHTLY around the blond kid …**

Mmmm (the mmm in her head translated into a soft moan in "the world," which, unbeknownst to Lindsay, Mel heard).

Memory file 222. Lying in Brian's bed in his dorm room. Nestled snuggly in his arms. "The way it was supposed to be."

**Left**

Legs. **Current status: Loose. Almost relaxed …**

Feet. Memory file 223. So high. Brian … feet rubbing against feet.

Current status: No relevant information.

Letters in red bold spiraled out until that's all Lindsay could see.

They flashed.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

**Discomfort level: 2 (of 5). Probability of Happiness: 72% Game over? Probability …**

The display warbled. Rippled in. Forming a flat line. Which then whirred to a point and disappeared.

Out of order.

A spot up and to the right of her right eye throbbed a staccato. Her left cheek twitched an accompaniment.

Mel bit her tongue. Figuratively. What she bit in actuality was her cheek. A curling nausea she hadn't experienced in two years rose up then. Lindsay's birthday dinner. Lindsay's favorite restaurant. Lindsay had the Chicken French. As she did every year. She'd "gotten silly." Again, normal for her birthday. She giggled and smiled … brushed her lips against Mel's cheek, right by her ear, and whispered, "I love you." Love and want rushed through Mel's body like a river. Cold and hot. So many years in … still terrifying and wonderful. Then … then … Sue, SUE (even in Mel's mind, the word was spit, hissed, poison), an old friend of Lindsay's Mel had never met before from Lindsay's uber-feminist days whom Lindsay had invited simply because she had told Lindsay about some freelance writing job… part time… decent money … Sue giggled and said, in front of fifteen people, most of whom she didn't know, "Remember that time we all stripped and touched each other's breasts." Eyes trained on Mel now. A simpering smile. "It wasn't _sexual_. It was _empowering_." Later that night, Mel had interrogated Lindsay. Like she was a hostile witness. "It was empowering." Burning eyes, though she shrugged lightly. Her voice filled with seeming calm. "Okay. Explain how." "I … I don't know. I barely remember it. It was kind of weird … I don't know why I did it. We'd been drinking. It … it didn't mean anything …" "Six women had their hands on you, and it didn't mean anything? How's that empowering? All it proves is women, too, can reduce women to body parts." Lindsay had cried. And apologized. They hadn't even known each other then. Mel had ruined her lover's birthday. Forced her to describe the lead up to the "incident," the "incident" itself, and the aftermath. Had inserted cutting remarks throughout and had held her accountable. For something Sue had suggested. For something that had happened many years ago. Before Mel had even met Lindsay. She saw everything then. Everything. Her own vulnerability (she was so desperately in love with Lindsay). The ugliness of her jealousy (which truly knew no bounds). The damage it could do. She'd decided that night, when she lay awake holding a sleeping Lindsay, tears staining Lindsay's cheeks. Mel had to leave Lindsay or stay and pretend (or try very hard to pretend) it was all okay. Sue. The five former lovers Lindsay still spoke to (who sent her cards, invited her to lunch, phoned periodically …). And Brian.

Mel clapped her hands and plastered a fake smile on her face. "So, where are the presents?"

Deb smiled in relief and ran to get the gifts (off of a small folding table in the kitchen). She was carrying them all … fell to juggling halfway to the couch. Brian and Mel both dove to help her. When Mel's eyes met Brian's, he jumped a little, dropping one of the boxes he'd rescued. Mel had made no sound, but Brian thought he heard growling. What the fuck?

Justin was oblivious to the Lindsay-Mel-Brian subplot. He'd been focusing on two people, and two people alone. Brian and Mikey. Justin smiled beatifically watching Brian's now comic attempt to catch and transport half the gifts to Mikey. Then his eyes flashed with a naughty glint. Mikey's face was still frozen into a monstrous mask, all except his left eye, which continued to shiver.

Justin's revelation (and Brian's lack of explanation, qualification, or denial) … eventually led Mikey, red-faced, his eyebrows and mouth forming angry lines, to shove Justin. Justin should have been scared. He should have flashed back to the parking garage. After that night, all violence, and even biting tones, sent him back there. But all he could see was Brian, behind Mikey (a room away), smirking, eyes dancing. He shrugged and then unaccountably looked up. At Justin. Brian's face cleared of all emotion. He blinked slowly. Then he smiled. A whisper of a smile. Justin beamed. The whisper grew into a murmur. And nothing else existed.

Back to the cough and the clank.

Justin was humiliated. And afraid.

But after the cop's first threat, he stopped talking. He stopped moving. He was staring at Brian. Justin glanced back at Brian. Brian had tilted his head. Was shrugging. Smirking.

Justin looked back at the cop. Saw for the first time what Brian saw. Bulging muscles. Super tan. Very likely packing a huge dick (his feet were huge). And when he smiled, which, much to Justin's horror, he was now doing, he had dimpled cheeks and bright white teeth.

"He's cute. If you like the brawny type. "Which I _do_ _not_," Justin thought, conveniently forgetting the fantasies he'd had before his first foray on Liberty Avenue.

Brian ran his hand down Justin's back, from his neck to his ass, and then started fucking him again. This time slow. But hard. Justin exhaled a moan. He couldn't help it. The cop raised an eyebrow and ran a finger lightly down the shaft of the flashlight. Justin shut his eyes tight (Brian had fisted Justin's hair and was now fucking him deeper, if that were possible, but still slowly, cruelly so). Justin felt an invisible hand closing around his heart.

TBC…


	29. Repercussions, Part 1

Note: Sorry this is so short. I had a tooth extraction on Tuesday, and I've been in a lot of pain.

(As you will recall) Cough. Clank. "You aren't supposed to be here." The cop stared at Brian. Justin glanced back at Brian. Brian shrugged and smirked. Justin whipped his head back to its original position and then let his head fall.

Brian couldn't see the look on Justin's face (since he was currently behind him, fucking him slow and deep), but he didn't need to. The moment the cop had arrived, Justin's body had stiffened and continued to do so as the seconds passed by small but most definitely perceptible degrees.

Brian ran his hand down Justin's back, from his neck to his ass, and then started fucking him again. This time slow. But hard. Justin let out a breathy moan. The cop raised an eyebrow and ran a finger lightly down the shaft of the flashlight. Justin shut his eyes tight. Brian fisted Justin's hair and fucked him deeper.

Brian had been assuring himself that his forgoing tricks since he met Justin was a matter of convenience. Trawling back allies, baths, and clubs for ass was time consuming and an unworthy endeavor from a cost-benefit analysis point of view, and tricking at work was impolitic. Fucking co-workers or employees was particularly imprudent in an environment as competitive at King and York—Doing so could open him up to blackmail, demotion, or firing.

(Brian conveniently ignored the extrapolation of that very logical argument—Taking a professional interest in and dating and then fucking Justin, the intern, and at work, were just as dangerous to Brian's current job and future career.)

As if on cue, as if to remind Brian that he existed … mattered, that he was the exception to all of Brian's rules, Justin squeezed Brian from inside, wrenching from Brian a deep body moan.

Fuck!

Brian wiped (some of the) sweat off of his brow. The cop took this opportunity to insert himself into the action, stepping forward and licking first Brian's temple and then Brian's neck, the cop's tongue trailing a droplet of sweat. Then he reached down and cupped Brian's balls. And squeezed. Brian grunted.

So … yeah … active (aggressive) tricking … err … taking the initiative to trick was time consuming, unsatisfying, and even dangerous. But here? Now? A trick had found Brian. And fucking this trick in particular could actually benefit him—and not just fulfilling his puerile desire to play dress up (donning the hat, sunglasses, and leather jacket while wielding a night stick and chewing gum)—knowing cops was handy.

In fact, not fucking the cop would force Brian to a realization that he'd been dancing around for weeks. To an admission he'd barely been spared last night. (Brian's salvation had come from the unlikeliest of places. Emmett. He'd decided to gift Mikey with a date. Which meant that Mikey couldn't accompany Brian to Babylon. What ended up happening was perhaps worse. If Brian wanted to avoid making Justin a permanent part of his life, he was screwing up royally. But more on that later.)

And Jesus, the cop was now sliding a spit-slick finger inside him … he unconsciously started fucking Justin faster.

Brian was only human.

The cop hit Brian's prostate. Brian grunted and let his right hand fall slack. He accidentally brushed a finger against Justin's scar. Brian was only human. He froze.

And that was it. The reason things that had once meant everything to Brian no longer meant shit. The reason he didn't deny that Justin was his boyfriend and that he'd been faithful. The reason Brian had watched _Shrek_ with Justin and Gus after Mikey's birthday party instead of going to Babylon with Emmett and Ted. The reason Brian used his now free hand to push the cop's away. The reason he wasn't going to fuck the cop. The reason he hadn't fucked Justin that first night or many days thereafter. The reason he swallowed hard, through the lump in his throat, and fucked Justin harder than he'd ever fucked him before, all the while jerking Justin off.

Life was hard, the world dark, and NYC (ironic given its population of 8 million) unspeakably lonely.

And Justin. Justin was light. Connection. Brian couldn't fuck up this … this whatever … not for a quick fuck he could brag about later. Not for dress up.

The cop was pissed. He frowned and fumed and gave Brian and Justin both appearance tickets for trespassing. He left out the public indecency, Brian guessed, because he found the irony overwhelming.


	30. Repercussions Part 2 or Brian Hates Cats

Brian glanced around (his eyes jumping from object to object quickly, as though their resting on any individual one caused him great pain) and frowned. Why the fuck was he here, in Lesbian Flagship One?

The living room was littered with clutter: blocks, books, paintbrushes in paint-spattered jars half filled with grey water, a balled up inside out dress, as though someone had divested it in haste, stacks of documents and newspapers, a "cat teaser" that looked a lot like what Brian had used on Justin Wednesday night, and on and on.

A sculpture of a naked "woman" (no head, arms, or legs) sat in the corner. Brian shuddered. Her ass was okay (a little more than okay), but she was fat. And her breasts hung low. Another shudder.

Paintings of nude women lined the walls. One in particular caught Brian's eye. No matter where you stood, she always seemed to be looking at a point an inch or two to the left, never right at you. Brian turned his head to the left and then to the right. With her hand covering "the cradle of life" (he'd seen the newest Summer's Eve commercial "Hail to the V") and ignoring her breasts and face, he couldn't help but think of Justin. They shared the same porcelain white skin, the same nearly-but-not-quite-flat belly, the same perfectly shaped neck, the same rounded ass.

Brian shook his head, swallowed hard, and sat down on the couch (barely—he sat on the edge of the cleanest looking cushion). He had not just seen Justin in the portrait of a naked chick. Nope. That would suggest he was sprung, seeing Justin everywhere he looked. And he was NOT that. He tugged (uncomfortably) at the cuffs of his leather jacket, which he kept on because (while they were still at Mikey's party) Gus had grabbed fistfuls of cake and smeared them onto the front of his shirt. So he was now bare to the waist or he would have been if had neglected to bring his leather.

A huge black and brown tabby was lying on an old (nearly flat) pizza box that was sitting on a table across from Brian. All piled up and regal looking, he continually threw Brian sidelong glances.

Brian jumped.

Did he just roll his eyes? Could cats do that?

Justin was sitting cross-legged on the floor (Brian didn't even want to walk on the floor, let alone sit on it). Gus was standing next to Justin, holding onto his shoulder, wobbling a bit. Justin looked him up and down with exaggerated head movements. "I've seen your picture on your daddy's desk. Have you grown since then? Are you allowed to be this tall?" He punctuated the question with a poke to Gus's belly.

Gus giggled. He nodded furiously. Then he said, clear as day, "Obama says I can."

Brian started at that. He'd never heard Gus speak more than the occasional one-syllable word (ma, da, yes, and no). He wondered at that for the span of exactly one second, before Lindsay came barreling into the living room (from the kitchen)—clad in an apron with flour on her face (she was making cinnamon rolls for them—not including Mel, who had grabbed a brief from the coffee table as soon as she walked through the door and stomped up to the bedroom—to eat during _Shrek_). "Oh my God! Did Gus say that?" She snatched him up into her arms and held him against her chest. "What a good boy!"

Justin glanced at Brian. Their eyes met. Brian raised an eyebrow. Justin smiled coyly and let his head fall. His cheeks were burning (Brian had taken to saying that very thing to him).

"I'm so proud of you!"

Brian looked up at Gus. He'd leaned his head against Lindsay's neck. But he was looking at Brian. He seemed oblivious. Like he had no clue he'd "done something right" and was just enjoying being held. Brian's chest was suddenly so tight. Gus was … might be … they didn't know. All they could say for sure was that he was behind developmentally speaking, and very often, he seemed disconnected from the world. Like he was looking and not really seeing or listening and not really hearing.

Brian swallowed hard but then smiled and winked at Gus. Gus laughed. He pointed and muttered, "Oh ma." Lindsay looked where Gus was pointing (at Brian) and smiled.

Three things happened then, the first two simultaneously.

**One** … Justin suggested, all happiness and light, "We should have Gus up some weekend," to which Lindsay replied, eyes wide and trained on Brian, "That would be great!"

**Two** … right before Justin opened his mouth, Brian turned on his cell phone, so just as Justin suggested that they spend a weekend together at the loft, together _babysitting_, Brian's phone was informing him that he'd received an email (dated the day before, Friday). It read:

_Brian, _

_I'm glad you're interested in expanding the purview of your job. We definitely want to keep you on if we can. Show some initiative. We're also considering Jackson. Let's (you and I) meet on Tuesday to discuss this further._

_George_

Brian swore under his breath.

"Brian!" Lindsay shot Brian a stern look.

Brian looked up at her, shrugged, and then looked back at his phone. Lindsay sighed and turned back to Justin. "So which weekend were you thinking? This would be soo great! We could all go. Gus can spend time with Brian and you, and Mel and I can go to a Broadway show! Or out to clubs! It's been wayyy too long."

Justin hmmmed. "I don't know. How about next weekend?"

While Lindsay and Justin were talking, Brian was thinking …

George was VP of sales. He'd come to Brian a few weeks ago asking whether he'd be interested in expanding his job responsibilities to include snagging clients (rather than simply coming up with ideas for advertising for clients they had already approached and/or signed and overseeing the implementation of those ideas via the Art Department). Brian, assuming the additional responsibilities would come with a raise and a promotion, had smiled and nodded and then proffered a yes and a handshake. George had promised to provide him with further details soon. This email was his providing further details? Crap. Since when had this become about "keeping" his job? And why was George suddenly considering Jackson?

So when Justin looked over (and up) at Brian and asked, "What do you think?" Brian, completely unaware of what he was being asked, waved his hand and muttered, "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

**Three** … That evil tabby (who had left his pizza box throne at some point unbeknownst to Brian) puked a hairball onto Brian's left shoe. Brian clenched his teeth and balled his right fist so hard that his nails, short though they were, left marks on the palm of his hand. Brian hissed, "Those are my new pradas."

And they were beautiful. Justin nodded. Half boots made out of the softest leather. He was totally jealous. Justin grimaced, wrinkling his nose (cutely Brian thought—that was the only thing preventing Brian from kicking his left foot into the air and sending the hairball flying onto the boy's leg), and turned away.

Lindsay was laughing.

Brian looked up at her sharply and turned his hands (his phone still sitting in his left). He widened his eyes, as if to say … "Aren't you going to do something about THAT?"

She kept laughing, but she did grab a roll of paper towel. Then she threw it at him.

Brian shot her a look that could melt steel, tossed his phone next to him on the couch, and unrolled two lengths (three sheets each) of paper towel. He didn't sever the paper from the roll (not yet), but looked down, grimaced himself, and then unrolled two more.

"I hate cats."

The tabby looked over at him impassively. Then he started licking his balls.

TBC…


End file.
